


Family Is Who You Choose

by unlockthelore



Series: Family Is Who You Choose [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Parents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-08-23 02:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16610270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockthelore/pseuds/unlockthelore
Summary: Overwatch has rebuilt itself from the turmoil left by past mistakes and regrets. Its members have grown as individuals and together, finding a family of their own made up of people who were slowly figuring it out as well. Now, they have a new challenge to face as parents, friends, lovers, siblings - and just as always, they'll do it together.Most Recent UpdateCH 1:The truth hurts in any capacity. A little girl seeks knowledge and finds pain.Now in chronological order of events.





	1. Be Careful What You Ask For (Shimada Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth hurts in any capacity. A little girl seeks knowledge and finds pain.

Tsubaki grew up on stories of Shimada Genji.

The details varied depending on who she asked and at times, it was like pulling teeth no matter who she turned to. Even the mention of her father stopped the elders in mid-sentence. Their piercing gazes boring holes into her head as she slowly sat up, looking at her cousins then sneaking a peek at her uncle. In front of the elders,  her uncle Hanzo didn’t smile or laugh and sometimes he was so still that she could mistake him for a statue. When he looked at her though, the faintest of smiles showed and he mouthed ‘later’ before continuing to speak as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Behind her back, she’d hear them whisper of her uncle’s leniency. Punishments. Speaking out of turn. It made her skin crawl but then her uncle would come and whisked her away with her cousins, and the elders were put out of mind.

Shimada Castle was beautiful compared to the cramped apartment she’d lived in with her mother. Having her own room was nice, although she could do without the combat training and the grueling lessons. Spending time with her cousins was fun and her uncle often sat by while doing his work, occasionally stopping to watch them as they knelt by the koi pond or tried to climb the trees. Sometimes Tsubaki’s mother would join him, but never for too long, and they always sat at a distance. Never laughing like Shingen and Hayao did with her, and when they talked, it was often her mother talking to her uncle.

Her voice gradually getting louder until she was close to shouting. Cheeks tinted red, and eyes blown wide when three sets of inquisitive dark eyes settled on her. Uncle Hanzo waving his hand, Tsubaki’s cousins turning away and continuing to play while she followed along, stealing glances over her shoulder as her mother rose in a huff and stormed away.

She wondered if her father would have joined her uncle too. Would they have sat closer to one another? Would her uncle have talked to him? What would they say? Would they argue too?

The questions haunted her.

Her uncle Hanzo grew up with her father and knew the most about him. He told her stories that made her gape or laugh or shake her head at her father’s silliness, and she loved them. But sometimes her uncle’s eyes would mist over and he’d look into the distance like he was waiting for someone to appear. The elders would scold her for bothering her uncle with “trivial” questions, urge her to continue her training and stay out of his way.

But Shingen told her that her uncle appreciated her questions. It kept her father’s memory alive being able to share his stories and slowly yet surely it sunk in.

When her mother showed her photos of her father, her voice was shaky and thick with tears. More than once, Tsubaki peeked from her room to see her mother with head in hands, barely-kept sobs muffled behind them. Tsubaki never mentioned it during the daytime, she figured her mother was only comfortable crying when she thought Tsubaki was sleeping.  

In front of the elders, her mother was almost as statuesque as her uncle. Keeping her head held high even when they sneered behind her back or whispered in her vicinity. Never once did she let them see her cry, and her smile was always warm and inviting to Tsubaki and her cousins.

So why did she stop smiling when her uncle entered the room?

Why did she avoid going to the West Wing, forbidding them from even thinking of playing there?

Tsubaki thought to ask but was sorely reminded of her mother’s crying and thought better of it. Agreeing to her demands to see her mother’s smile and soft sigh of relief, but plotting in private when no one else was around to stop her.

The room in the West Wing right beside Uncle Hanzo’s that no one was allowed to enter. Not even the Elders. One evening, climbing up on the balcony, Tsubaki peeked inside. The room was well taken care of and looked amazing. Video games, clothes strewn about, posters of cartoons she knew and video games and mangas, a messy bed with a thin layer of dust as if no one had laid in it for awhile. She wondered who slept there, and came back night after night to peek inside and garner a little more of the owner’s identity.

It was until her Uncle Hanzo caught her, waiting for her on the balcony in seiza and silent that she finally asked.

“Uncle Hanzo?”

“Hm.”

“Where is my father?”

The misty look returned to her uncle’s eyes, his jaw going slack and eyes fluttering shut. He breathed in deep then exhaled through his nose, a white puff of air like a dragon’s breath coloring the air then dissipating just as quickly. When he opened his eyes, he looked at her and she scrunched her nose, trembling from the cold and wringing her hands together to keep from reaching out to him for comfort.

“You have his thinking face,” Uncle Hanzo sighed, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “And your hands, he used to do that too..”

“Used to?”

Uncle Hanzo hummed but said nothing else. Tsubaki wasn’t sure if she wanted to press on, mouth clamping shut and gaze falling to her hands splayed on her lap. She felt guilty coming here day after day. Whoever was in this room must’ve meant the world to her uncle. Intruding on that was rude and wrong. Sneaking a glance at her uncle, Tsubaki struggled to find the words to break the silence.

Her uncle patted the top of her head, and she glanced up at him with wide eyes, admiring how the blues of his haori matched the night sky. It hadn’t occurred to her that it’d gotten dark and a chill ran down her spine as a sharp gust of wind blew past them. She rubbed her forearms, teeth chattering. Going inside would be the best option now or else her mother would worry.

A soft heavy-weight was draped on her shoulders and she blinked owlishly, looking down at her uncle’s haori practically dwarfing her smaller frame. A light click from behind had her whirling around to see her uncle pushing open the balcony door and stepping inside the room, turning back with a hand extended to her.

“It is cold outside, little one,” he said, lifting her up as she came closer and setting her down on the floor. “And this place is as much of yours as it is mine.”

Tsubaki stared up at her uncle in awe as he slid the balcony door shut and locked it, crossing the room with the grace of someone who’d navigated it time and time again, flicking on the light as he stood by the door. Covering her eyes, Tsubaki squinted against the artificial light then slowly lowered them as the scene came into view. Turning her head this way and that, she marveled at the posters and pictures, the sheer mess of it all.

“This room looks like it was owned by a pig.”

Her uncle laughed, “Astute observation, little one, but no pig lived here.”

Tsubaki wrinkled her nose at the poorly made bed and gave the blankets a light tap with the tip of her finger before drawing away, her heel caught on a pair of jeans that were far too bright for their own good.

“Are you sure about that uncle?” She asked, kicking them away into another pile and hopping over a box left in the middle of the floor, peering at it over her shoulder. “It looks like no one’s lived here in forever.”

Her heart dropped when her uncle’s smile thinned out into a firm line. He glanced around the room as if surveying it but this time it felt different. She’d seen him survey rooms before entering it. Looking for the entrances and exits, different points of interest, anything that stuck out that could be helpful should an escape be needed or a battle be fought. The same lessons she and her cousins were taught. But her uncle wasn’t looking at the room in that way. His gaze lingered on the walls, the clothes on the floor, the television, the games hooked up to it, and the bed.

For a moment his gaze lingered on the bed as he drew a deep breath, rising to his full height and then exhaling. Tsubaki released the breath she’d been holding when the ghost of a smile returned to his face and he batted his hand, beckoning her towards him.

Once at his side, he knelt down and laid his hands on her shoulders.

“You can come here anytime you like,” he said.

“Anytime?”

He nodded and she looked around.

“But what about the person who lived here before?”

Her uncle’s eyes widened and she regretted asking but the words just came out. Several emotions flashed across her uncle’s face too fast for her to catch but there was one that she knew well.

Sadness.

Her uncle squeezed her shoulder lightly then relaxed his grip, smoothing out the bunched fabric of the haori then holding her face in his hands. He looked down at the floor for a spell and Tsubaki hesitated before laying her hand on top of his head, fingers sliding through the black strands of hair to the grey “wings” at his temples.

“Uncle?”

He lifted his head and Tsubaki tried to give him a smile that was reassuring. This wasn’t like her Uncle Hanzo at all. He was always smiling, always happy and content. Not misty-eyed and sullen, withdrawn into himself, as if he was on the verge of crying but couldn’t let it out. Realization dawned upon Tsubaki as she removed her hand, covering her face with both palms.

In the small crack between her hands, she said, “I won’t look.”

When her uncle didn’t respond, she took that as an okay to continue. “I won’t listen either,” she assured, keeping her eyes shut as she moved to cover her ears as best as she could without shrugging off his hands.

With muffled hearing and eyes closed, maybe her uncle wouldn’t be afraid. She wondered what her father would have done. Would he have hugged her uncle? Maybe told him a joke to cheer him up? Or take him to the ramen shop that her uncle took them to make him smile. The longer she waited for her uncle to cheer up, the more her own chest felt tight and heavy.

What would her father do to make her mother smile?

Would he charm her like he did when they first met?

Would he make her laugh and dance with her for hours?

Would he be proud of Tsubaki for leaving her alone to cry?

Slowly her hands fell away from her ears and she sniffled, opening her eyes, fresh tears clinging to her eyelashes. Her uncle was looking at her as she choked on a sob, biting her lower lip to try and stifle it.

“This room,” her uncle began, his voice grim and gravelly. “It belonged to your father.”

Tsubaki’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat, hands trembling as she looked around. Her father slept here. This was his room. This place that didn’t look lived in for years. A lump in her throat made it harder to swallow but when she did, her tongue felt thick and her face felt hot.  Uncle wrapped his arms around her, guiding her so that her head laid on his shoulder. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes squeezing shut and tucking closer to him. His fingers combed through her hair as he cradled her close.

“Your father will not be coming back, Tsubaki.”

“Why?”

She shuddered, breathing in raggedly.

“Did I do something bad?”

He left the same night she was born. The elders said so. Her mother said so. Was he disappointed in her? Did he hate her?

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Is it because I’m not a boy?”

“No,” her uncle insisted, his voice tight and she nestled deeper into his embrace. “No, you are perfect just as you are.”

Tsubaki gritted her teeth and struggled to break free of her uncle’s hold, stumbling backward. “Then why?!”

She panted, her chest heaving as she wiped furiously at her eyes. “Why isn’t he here? Where did he go?! Why didn’t he stay!? Why…” Her uncle stared at her, and she felt her anger rising but also ebbing away almost as if her strength was being zapped from her. She wiped her eyes again, jerking her hand down to rest at her side.

“Why didn’t he want me?”

Her uncle was quiet for a long time and every second that ticked past only served to cement her fears. Not even her uncle knew the depths of her father’s mind and she might never know why he was gone. Bowing her head, Tsubaki breathed in deep and tried to steady her shaking fists.

“Your father was not given the chance to know you, Tsubaki.”

Lifting her head, she blinked away the tears and watched as her uncle rose to his full height, his eyes shut.

“What do you mean?”

Turning on his heel, her uncle slid open the door and lingered in the entryway with his head bowed. He gripped the wooden frame so hard that it splintered beneath his hand.

“Uncle?”

He turned to face her and the stony expression he wore as he took a step back into the hallway was unlike any she’d ever seen her uncle wear.

“Your father was…”

Her blood thrummed in her ears.

“Your father was murdered  the night you were born.”

“What?”

Her uncle continued as if he hadn’t heard her,  “And his murderer…” he looked askance, shutting his eyes. “Was me.”

Red.

Tsubaki was certain that everything in her sight was dyed in red. Her father. The smiling man from the photos, the one who’d grown at her uncle’s side, who’d been his best friend, his confidant. Dead. By her uncle’s hand. The night she was born. Her father didn’t even know her.

“Why?”

Her chest felt hollow, skin crawling and hand shaking as she grabbed fistfuls of her trousers, unsure whether to look at her uncle or back away from him. In the end, she did both.

“I ask myself that question often.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tsubaki, you…”

His shoulders shook as he laughed. Not the happy and warm laughter she’d grown accustomed to. No, this was hollow and cold.

“You truly are Genji’s daughter,” he said, her stomach turning at the sheer admiration in his words. “And if he had the chance, he would have loved you.”

Tsubaki grimaced. “But you killed him.”

Her hand sliced through the air between them as she took a step forward, the red outlining her vision deepening and spurring her to press on.

“How could you do that!?”

  
Her father.

Genji.

Dead.

_Dead._

“He was your brother!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, trembling with barely-kept rage, oblivious to the red hue creeping up her arms and down her legs.

Her uncle’s gaze was nothing short of nonchalant. Worn, tired, as if he’d had this conversation more than once and was completed unfazed.

“I know you are upset with me,” he said evenly, raising one hand when she opened her mouth to retaliate. “And I will take every bit of anger you have.”

Did Shingen know?

Did Hayao know?

Did her mother know?

Blood rushing through her ears, anger deeply set in the hollowness in her chest, wanting nothing more than to rip into the man in front of her. The image of her uncle Hanzo, smiling and laughing, fractured and fell away in place of this indifferent monster. She grabbed hold of the haori draped over her shoulders and threw it at his feet, stepping back and readying into a fighting stance.

He glanced down at the garment then up at her, keeping her gaze as he knelt to pick it up, slipping it on as he spoke.

“But…” He sighed, brushing off dust from his shoulder. “Know this.”

Her eyes widened as he turned away.

“No matter what, I will love you always.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she stomped forward, grabbing hold of the door and slamming it shut. Left in her father’s room by herself, she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. A few heaving breaths and muffled whimpering punctuated a loud cry that echoed throughout the halls.


	2. Crossroad (Genji and Zenyatta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji is at a crossroads.  
> 

Genji paced back and forth, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he hesitated for a second then resumed his pacing with a few mumbled words in Japanese. He could have worn a hole in the floor with the speed he'd been walking, turning on his heel only to resume the same path. Repeating Zenyatta's mantras and teachings in his head did fairly little to help soothe his nerves. Braving a glance at the closed door, he stopped in mid-stride and turned towards it, taking a deep steadying breath as he lifted his fist. His fist parallel to the door refused to move the few centimeters it would have taken for him to actually  _knock_ , and if he still had hair on the back of his neck, it would've been standing on end.

 _This is ridiculous_.

He jerked his arm back and turned around, pressing his back to the door and sinking to the floor. With all of the training and the meditation he'd been doing for this moment, he should have been  _much_ better than this. It shouldn't have been so hard to just knock and say what he had to say but the words refused to come out. Tucking his hands close to his abdomen, he sighed, his vents opening and steam flowing out from the ventilators cooling his heated skin. 

_Why is this so hard, Hanzo?_

He opened and closed his hands, knowing behind the armor on his right there would be flesh, and on the left there was nothing but metal, wires, synthetic mesh but no bone or blood. And the one who'd caused it was behind the door he couldn't bring himself to knock on. In fear of disturbing what peace his brother had now or the fragile peace he had grown to love upon accepting what he now was. But he knew that they couldn't go on like this forever. After Hanzo joined Overwatch, the revelation of his children, that he had a life  _after_ what he did — it took time to process. The brothers couldn't be in the same room as one another for long. Hanzo, dutifully continuing his role as a father, and Genji trying to understand where his brother's love and care was when he was whole.

Needless to say, it hurt. It burned watching from afar as Hanzo laughed and smiled with his children. Bitter memories of his brother scowling, side-eyeing, reprimanding him overlapping his joy that Hanzo had found his own semblance of peace. A peace that didn't involve his little brother. 

"You are aware Hanzo is not in his room, are you not?" a calm and even-toned tinny voice interrupted, stirring Genji from his thoughts as he staggered to his feet then dropped to a kneel in front of Zenyatta. "Arise, my student."

Genji lifted his head slowly, realizing what he'd done and pushing to his feet, bowing his head. "Apologies, master," he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck like a scolded child. "I was lost in thought, but how did you know that Hanzo isn't here?"

Zenyatta tilted his head to one side then looked towards the door. The circles on his forehead glowing, light growing bright and then dimming in a slow cadence that reminded Genji of steady breaths. For a moment, the lights glowed a bright shade of blue as if Zenyatta holding his breath and then they dimmed once he spoke.

"Hanzo and I have had many conversations, and in the times I have sought his counsel, I could never find him at this hour. I believe that young Hayao called it 'bath time'."

Genji's heart stilled, and he couldn't believe his ears. "Bath... time?"

"Yes."

Zenyatta looked at Genji dead-on and the two shared a long silence, tension thick in the air as Genji tried to process the words and Zenyatta looked on without interruption. Then finally, Genji reached up and removed his visor, the low hiss echoing in the hall as he pulled it away.

"I am lost, master."

"I know, my student."

Genji flinched. He'd been expecting the affirmation but to know that his indecision was palpable to another was disgruntling to say the least. Trained as an assassin, reborn as a cross between man and machine, and yet he couldn't hide the simplest parts of him that were undeniably human. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Pain registered in his palm as he clutched his visor tight enough for it to dig into the mesh and register with what nerves were left in his hand. 

"I thought I was better than this," Genji seethed through clenched teeth, shoulders trembling lightly as he bowed his head unable to look at Zenyatta. "I have forgiven him, so why.."

Zenyatta's sigh was soft but not exasperated. They'd had this conversation many times in different stages of Genji's journey to self-actualization. And everytime, Zenyatta would come closer and lay his hand on Genji's quaking shoulder, the soft hum of the orbs constantly spinning in a circle around his neck a comforting sound in contrast to the roaring winds in Genji's heart. With a light squeeze to his armored shoulder, Genji lifted his head to regard Zenyatta with a solemn countenance, unable to still the tears that pricked the corner of his eyes.

"It is hard, my student," Zenyatta assured. "Reconciling your brother with the one from your memories. Letting go of the pain that was inflicted that he no longer wishes upon you. Understanding that the man he is now is capable of the love and affection he was unable to grant you in the past. It is hard."

Genji nodded slowly, breathing in deep, his exhale rattling. 

"However, you desired this chance with your brother to become more than what you both had been, and more than what you were believed to be — Hanzo has taken the first step by joining your cause and revealing to you a part of him that is both vulnerable and important. It is up to you now, my student. Will you repeat the cycle of pain or learn from your healing wounds and seek to better understand your brother by not waiting but acting?"

Genji hesitated, opening his mouth then shutting it, swallowing hard before he spoke. "But what if Hanzo doesn't want me to act?"

"I believe that is unlikely, my student. You see, Hanzo and I talked about many things, including you. Your brother is waiting for you, Genji. And when you are ready.."

"Go to him," Genji finished, voice breathy and light. 

Zenyatta nodded, pulling his hand away and turning, making his way down the hall as Genji looked towards the door in front of him in silence. He isn't sure how long he was standing there until a familiar voice called from behind him.

"Genji?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this chapter was a little strange, ngl.
> 
> I was just writing off the top of my head and realized I never thought in depth how Genji might feel about what happened between him and Hanzo. How easy was it for him to forgive? How hard? What misgivings does he have now that he sees his brother, a bit happier and with children, and _moving on_ despite what he'd done? And how horrible does it make him feel that he's upset about that?
> 
> So yeah, this is a small take on it and tell me what you guys think. I'm not sure about my characterization on Genji, I've read so much about him but I wanted to capture a man who is both fun-loving but has found his spiritual peace but also is a tad fractured inside.


	3. First Steps (Genji and Hanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, we're left blinded by what we believe to be the truth. It's hard to take the first step to recovery, but the first step is the hardest.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue in Italics are the characters speaking in Japanese.

With all of Genji's training and skill, there was only one person who could've managed to sneak up on him without alerting their presence. He waited for a beat longer then braved a glance over his shoulder. Hanzo stood there, hair loose and dressed down in a plain t-shirt and pachimari printed pajama pants, a  squirming bundle held close to his chest wrapped up in a fluffy white blanket, dark hair sticking out from beneath it, and little feet swaying to and fro. At his side, Shingen was toweling off his hair, draping the damp cloth around his shoulders as he peeked up from the curtain of dark hair framing his face. Grateful for the rest of the armor covering his face hiding the slight flush as embarrassment crept up his spine and took hold as he turned around fully.

_ "Are you alright, little brother? " _

It'd been some time since Genji heard Hanzo speak to him in their native tongue. A longer time since he'd heard it with that much care and concern. His heart ached and though he wanted to dissuade his brother from worrying, the look on Hanzo's face shifted from one of concern to determination. Eyebrows knitted together, he looks away from Genji to Shingen who looks crossed between disinterested and drowsy and the towel-covered bundle Genji guesses is Hayao. Genji's heart skips a beat when Hanzo pins him in place with a flat look then brushes pass, gently patting the top of Shingen's hair to spur him into movement. Stepping aside to make room for his brother, Genji tries to goad himself into saying something. The ache in his heart only worsened and accompanied the weight in his stomach as Hanzo's back turned to him once the door opened.

_ "Little sun, take your brother to bed for me? " _

Shingen tilted his head to the side but held out his hands for Hayao without question. Shifting the little boy from his half-cradle, Hanzo carefully laid him in Shingen's arms then patted his eldest on the back as he walked inside, crooning to his younger brother who stirred from the movement. The hallway was quiet and almost deathly still beside the boy's voices becoming softer and smaller as they disappeared into their room, leaving Hanzo in the doorway and Genji standing a few inches away. 

_ I could just reach out. _

The thought crossed Genji's mind but his body refused to move. Seeing Hanzo's back turned to him, knowing he could walk away despite his attempt to question, it stayed his tongue and hitched the words caught in his throat. Eyes misting over, Genji glanced down at his feet and turned over the visor in his hand. Perhaps his master was right and he wasn't ready. If he couldn't even touch nor answer Hanzo when he was trying, what would it be like if they were to argue again?

_ "Are you coming inside? " _

Genji hesitated, wondering if he heard right, but when he lifted his head -- Hanzo was leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest regarding Genji with eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. Worry, hope, acceptance, and curiosity. So open and sincere that Genji could scarce believe that it was his brother looking back at him. Frozen in place, his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, he wondered whether he should take a step forward or remain standing where he was. Zenyatta’s words reverberated and he swallowed hard, trying to force his body into motion.

_ “Where is your mind now, Sparrow?” _

A shiver ran down Genji’s spine. His breath hitched, eyes wide and wondering as he met Hanzo’s gaze, the latter’s gaze softening. Neither said a word for a moment and Genji would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch when Hanzo stepped closer, wrapping his hand around his wrist and half-pulling him into the apartment. His hold loose enough that Genji could’ve broken free at any time but he felt powerless, almost helpless, like a child. The door slid shut behind them with a soft click, leaving them in the dark, the only light coming from the room down the hall.

Backlit by the light, a faint golden hue surrounding him, Hanzo’s angular features softened and Genji was reminded of their youth. His wrist slipping from Hanzo’s grasp, their hands connecting, reminding him of when he was a scared child running to his brother for comfort. He tightened his grip on Hanzo’s hand and stopped in mid stride.

_ When did that stop? _

He could feel the weight of Hanzo’s gaze. Pressure applied to his hand as they stood in the living room, the silence between them thick and stifling. Genji tried to look everywhere but at Hanzo. The apartment was cozy to say the least, less spartan as he’d thought Hanzo would live. Video games, toys, shelves of books, pictures on the walls, snacks on the table, a rice cooker on the counter top, tea cups, dishes, a couch with colorful pillows, and an old television set, an old arm chair with a familiar-looking garment draped over it. Dark blue with a golden geometrical pattern along the edges that he’d  _ never _ seen Hanzo wear before.

“Is that McCree’s?” Genji asked, wincing at the sound of his voice against the deafening quiet. 

Hanzo glances at the garment and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes,” he sighs, parting with Genji for a second to stride over and gather it in his arms, folding it neatly. “He offered to  _ babysit _ while I was away on the mission to Ilios.” 

Genji nodded slowly. He remembered that mission, watching his brother board the Orca, the two exchanging waves but nothing more. He’d had his heart in his throat for the next two weeks lamenting that if something happened to Hanzo their last interaction would’ve been a stifled goodbye and good luck. Though it didn’t stop the bitterness that rose. He hadn’t noticed his nephews running around with McCree, seeing less and less of them when Hanzo wasn’t present, and the cowboy hadn’t been  _ vocal _ about the arrangement.

Still, it begged the question.

_ Why didn’t you ask me? _

Gaze flicking to the floor, Genji nodded.

“I see, well, I will return it to him,” he offered, holding out his hand.

Hanzo glanced towards him then his outstretched palm and walked closer, laying his own palm against Genji’s and clasping it tight.

“ _ Little brother _ ,” he sighs, the sadness in his eyes palpable and wrenching at Genji’s heartstrings.

_ Where was this when you murdered me? _

_ Why are you doing this now? _

_ Aren’t you angry at me? _

_ Don’t you hate me? _

“ _ Brother _ ,” Genji answered, trying to still his hand’s trembling.

“Genji,” Hanzo tried again, releasing his hand, draping the serape across the couch back then gesturing to his own head. “Would you..?”

Visor in his free hand, Genji squeezed it harder and his heart raced. Did Hanzo know what he was asking for? During their first altercation, he’d balked at seeing only part of his face. Would seeing the whole thing change things between them? 

_ Isn’t that what I wanted? _

Reaching up and undoing the clasps, the helmet slid off with a soft whispering hiss. Holding it in his hands, Genji clutched it tightly and clicked the visor into place, braving a glance. Hanzo stared at him, lips parted and eyes narrowed, then slowly he raised his hands as if confronting a skittish animal. His fingers settling in Genji’s hair, ruffling it vehemently until his hair was sticking out at different angles. Wrinkling his nose, a laugh escaping him unbidden, he braved another glance and the smile on his face diminished. Hanzo looked down at him with nothing but pure adoration, taking Genji’s face into his hands, his palms warm, thumbs tracing the scars on his cheeks.

Closing his eyes for a beat, Hanzo leaned closer and touched their foreheads together. Genji shut his eyes. He could see his brother, before the cold engulfed him and the elders infected his mind. Whole and happy, pressing his forehead to Genji’s, whispering soft assurements until he was pacified and his crying ceased. It didn’t occur to Genji that he was crying until Hanzo’s fingers swept gently beneath his eyes in a crescent.

“I’m here, Genji.”

Genji’s eyes shot open and his helmet clattered to the floor, arms wrapping around Hanzo’s torso, face pressed against his shoulder. Frozen for a spell, Hanzo didn’t move nor did he breathe and Genji cursed himself for going too far until his brother wrapped his arms around him. One hand nestled in his hair, the other pressed against the middle of his back.

_ Just like then. _

The tears returned, slipping down his cheeks as he buried his face in Hanzo’s shoulder, the two of them sinking down to the floor, holding onto one another. Genji’s shoulders shaking as he cried and Hanzo muttering apologies and reassuring words while cradling his younger brother close. It wasn’t perfect, there was so much they had to improve upon. Genji knew and yet he didn’t care.

_ We can be better, can’t we, brother? _

“We can.”

Realizing he’d said it aloud, Genji chuckled weakly and sniffled, clinging to his older brother for dear life.

“We can,” Hanzo repeated, sounding far more confident than either of them had the right to be.

And yet Genji believed every word he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by @eebbapanda1! 
> 
> I'm happy to know there are people out there who enjoy my headcanons and want to know more about the original children I've thought up. Though this take isn't necessarily about the OC kids and moreso about the Shimada brother relationship, I feel as if it's a mirror. Shingen and Hayao mirroring Hanzo and Genji, what they could've been compared to who they are now and what they're working towards. I never really thought about Genji's point of view on the whole situation between him and Hanzo and instead of making that the focal point of their relationship, letting it be something deeper and set in that drove them apart even before Hanzo landed the first blow, I think there's something that can be salvaged.
> 
> There's one more part to this and I can't wait to show it to you guys.
> 
> As always, if you have any comments, please put them below. You can also leave kudos, subscribe for updates, and follow my tumblr @familyiswhoyouchoose for more headcanons about the kids. 
> 
> See you guys in the next chapter.


	4. A Fresh Start (Hanzo and Genji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and Genji reach an understanding, a moment is interrupted but a new beginning is here.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue written in italics are in Japanese.

Hanzo ran his fingers through Genji's hair, twisting and curling the locks around his fingers, musing and straightening it while Genji gathered himself. Crying had never been his strong suit as a child. Forced to stamp out weakness and tears, he hadn't been given the luxury of expressing his emotions in that capacity and was made to be immune to the plight of those who wronged the Shimada. Pressing his hand to the back of Genji's head as he eased them both to a sitting position against the back of the couch, his arms wrapped around his younger brother whose body was trembling with the slightest of sobs and shaky breaths. Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut and rested his cheek atop Genji's head, rubbing circles along his lower back, trying not to shy away from the cool metal beneath his palm. The movements had the same effect as when Genji was a boy. Slowly his sobs ceased and his breath evened out, hand groping along Hanzo's sides until they found purchase at his back, holding fistfuls of his shirt.

Eyes cracking open, Hanzo laid a soft kiss to his brother's hair. It didn't occur to him until a second later that Genji had frozen completely and a beat after, it dawned on him what he'd done. Giving his brother's back two swift pats, Hanzo moved to untangle himself.

" _I am sorry, brother. The children usually prefer to be held and they are partial to physical affection, and I--_ "

"Mother," Genji interrupted, his voice so small and breathless that Hanzo's stammering was cut short as he stared in awe at his brother's wide eyes and lost expression. " _Mother used to do that for us._ "

Hanzo swallowed hard. He remembered. The days when they were whole, young, and their mother was there to kiss away the pains inflicted upon them. Admittedly, many of his skills with parenting came from fleeting memories of her and her warmth. Not a day passed that he didn't wish to return to those days when their mother was alive and her love was enough to get him through the day. Slowly, Hanzo nodded as he felt the tell-tale prickling sensation behind his eyes. He'd heard about it before. That's how the tears started but they never fell. Not for him. 

" _Shingen and Hayao are precocious as Shimada tend to be,_ " Hanzo teased, lips quirking up into a half-smile as Genji chuckled. " _Shingen_ moreso _than Hayao._ "

Drawing his hands away, Hanzo laid them in his lap as he and Genji broke apart. He could feel his brother close to him, the metal of his armor flush against Hanzo's arms, their pinkies intertwined and he sighed. There were some things that wouldn't change. Memories of the two of them sitting in seiza, listening to the elders' bickering grow louder and crueler, Genji slowly edging closer until they were side by side, reaching out to hook his pinky with Hanzo's. It wasn't often that he indulged his little brother and if they were caught, he was often punished. But as the years went by and Genji sought him out less, he missed it.

Hanzo breathed deep and exhaled audibly, undoing their pinkies to hold his brother's hand in his, squeezing despite the painful press of metal to flesh. Looking down at their joined hands, Hanzo ruefully smiled and lifted his gaze to meet Genji's.

" _I do not want them to grow as we did,_ " Hanzo admitted, clearing his throat after his voice cracked. " _I do not want him to become what I am._ "

The thought pained him in more ways than he could describe. Shingen and Hayao, blades at the ready at his behest. The two of them giving every fiber of their being to the clan. Ready to destroy one another despite their blood and return to him victorious after being covered in the blood of their brother. His eldest, a man full grown, rising to take his place at the head without his brother at his side. Confident in his victory, unaware that his fate could be changed or that there was another way than what the elders had told him. Than what _Hanzo_ had led him to believe. 

" _Brother._ "

Genji squeezed his hand, the pressure rousing Hanzo from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, feeling the ache around his eyes from keeping them open for too long. Looking towards his brother, the cheerful grin was gone form Genji's face replaced with one of worry. Nausea twisted in Hanzo's gut. How could he make his younger brother worry after all that he'd taken from him? What right did he have to unload his fears and his woes onto Genji's shoulders when he was feeling so much himself?

" _I_ apolog _-_ "

" _Don't,_ " Genji snapped, laying his other hand on top of Hanzo's, taking a deep breath before speaking again. " _Please do not apologize for this, brother._ "

They kept one another's gaze. Hanzo searching Genji's face for remnants of the boy that he'd slain, finding pieces of him in his smile and the kindness in his eyes, the squeeze before he released Hanzo's hand in place of wrapping his arms around him. Forehead pressed to Hanzo's shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around him, giving him ample opportunity to pull away though he took none. It was easier to talk to Genji looking at him but even easier to talk _without_. Then at least, he didn't have to face the consequences of his actions.

_Like a coward._

The dragons stirred beneath his skin in response. Pinpricks of pain traveling up and down his arm as they moved throughout his body in a current, trying to find a way to release, to find their way back to their kin. Hanzo bit the inside of his cheek until a metallic tang filled his mouth, trying to fight back the thoughts which threatened to take hold, one hand braced against the back of Genji's neck. Squeezing and holding at the base where metal met skin.

" _I was right,_ " Genji sighed with a fit of broken laughter. " _For having hope for you._ "

Hanzo opened his mouth to reply but the words fell short. His mouth snapped shut and he buried his face in his brother's hair, struggling to speak up until a soft _young_ voice called from behind them.

" _Dad, Uncle Genji, are you okay?_ " 

Slowly relinquishing his hold on Genji, Hanzo turned around to face his eldest son standing a few inches away from them. Shingen tilted his head to the side but otherwise said nothing. 

" _I heard a thud and well.._ "

From behind his back, he held out Genji's helmet. Hanzo's blood runs cold when he realizes his son must've crept past them as they were talking. How much did Shingen hear? How much did he  _not_ hear? Staring up at the youth with a blank expression, Shingen's poker face was almost as good as his own if not for the way he glanced down at the helmet then Genji and Hanzo. Stepping forward, he held out the helmet to Genji who'd taken it with a soft thanks, scrambling to his feet and offering a hand to Hanzo.

Taking it gratefully, Hanzo stood up and looked from Genji to Shingen. The latter said nothing, gaze flicking between them before he turned on his heel and made his way back to the lit bedroom.

" _Hayao wanted a story but I'll tell him one tonight, dad._ "

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, bathed in the soft glow of artificial light, Shingen smiled then disappeared into the room -- the door clicking shut behind him leaving Hanzo and Genji in the dark.

" _I do not think you have anything to worry about, brother,_ " Genji said, the soft hiss of his helmet clicking into place filling the silence. " _From what I can see, Shingen is nothing like you were._ "

Hanzo's chest tightened as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Gently, Genji's hand laid on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

" _But I see pieces of the man you are now in him, and I am proud of you, brother._ "

At a loss for words, Hanzo could only nod though he doubted Genji could see it. There was something refreshing about his younger brother pointing it out. That he was changing, perhaps for the better, and raising his children in a way different than what they'd been. Beneath his skin, the dragons roared and he touched his forearm, running his fingers along his tattoo.

 _"You would know, little brother. After all, only a Shimada can judge another._ "

" _Perhaps, well, I have overstayed my welcome. I should be going now._ "

Genji gives his shoulder another pat and begins to make his way to the door, the lights on his armor allowing Hanzo to track him as he goes. Every footfall coincides with the quickening of Hanzo's heartbeat and he forces out the words he'd been holding back.

" _Genji, wait._ "

The door slides open and Genji looks back at him. Hanzo breathes in deep then exhales, meeting his brother at the door.

" _We must talk about another matter._ "

He can feel the weight of Genji's stare behind his visor, hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks.

" _Was crying on your apartment floor not enough for tonight, brother?_ "

Hanzo grimaced. " _As I neglected to mention, little brother. We will argue in the future, but I refuse to lie to you._ "

Immediately Genji sobered up, raising to his full height as they stepped out of the apartment together, the door shutting behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not see this chapter coming at all. Honestly, it was supposed to take a totally different turn but it ended up here. I decided to put it up anyway because I was mildly mind-blown by how it went and how it actually brought up another plot point I was trying to figure out how to introduce. Well, small cameo by Shingen in this chapter, makes you wonder how he got past. What is it that Hanzo and Genji are going to be talking about?
> 
> Is Hanzo okay?
> 
> What's going on?
> 
> There's so much I want to share and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Anyway, you guys can still find me on Tumblr **@familyiswhoyouchoose** , and you can find me on Twitter @iy_huckleberry.
> 
> See you guys in the next chapter. o/


	5. Answers (Hanzo and Genji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You believed there was hope for me, brother, but there is so much you don't know."  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire conversation, although written in English, is being spoken in Japanese by Hanzo and Genji.

In the past, the night air did wonders for erasing the guilt and sadness that clung to Hanzo’s body like a second skin. Instead of feeling an inward shock of cold, the physical chill to his outward person allowed him to temporarily  _ _forget__. On the nights that his sons were sleeping and the weight of his decisions was too much to bear, he would leave the comforts of their room to sit on the rooftop. Occasionally, McCree would be there with a bottle in hand and a faraway look in his eye. Hanzo knew he wasn’t the only one with vices but remembering that he had two small children waiting for him the next morning kept him from indulging in them. Needless to say, he was there long after McCree had stumbled his way to the door with a half-hearted goodbye and the tip of a hat. He didn’t look even when he felt the cowboy’s gaze lingering far on his back long after he’d gone. It was safer that way, Hanzo supposed. Easier for him to look forward in the roiling seas, watching the waves crash against the rocks, inhaling the salty air and gazing up at the endless starry sky.

Anything to keep his mind from wandering to  _ _that__  night. From relieving  _ _those__ moments. With his gourd clasped between his hands, body momentarily warmed by the few sips of sake and eyes locked onto the horizon — he waited until his thoughts fell in line with his desires and returned to bed as if nothing happened. Now though, that was no longer an option. At his side, legs swinging like when he was a child and hands wringing in his lap to where the metal on either appendage scraped together was his younger brother, Genji. Alive, with a few new bells and whistles, and less bone and blood than before — but alive. Something Hanzo had never thought possible but hoped with every fiber of his being.

Mask removed and expression unguarded, Genji resembled every bit of the boy that Hanzo  _ _murdered__. It both endeared and disgusted him. The forgiveness he could bear but the knowledge of what he’d done would haunt him until his dying day. No amount of dissociating or reallocating his thoughts would ever ease that guilt of murdering his brother and  _ _pride__  at knowing he “saved” his honor by doing so. Destroyed his body but saved his honor. Their  _ _clan__ ’s honor. As if that could mean more than his brother’s very being.

Letting his eyes flutter shut, Hanzo breathed in deep then exhaled, hoping to steady his racing heart and school his expression into one less readable.

“You are stalling, brother,” said Genji, his voice muffled beneath the waves of Hanzo’s psyche.

Eyes fluttering open, Hanzo blinked rapidly then regarded his brother with a raised brow. “Pardon?”

“It is late, brother, and you asked me to come with you to the rooftop but you have said nothing since we got here,” Genji pointed out, his voice soft and even as though he was speaking to a spooked animal. “Perhaps this conversation is best had in the morning?”

Hanzo searched Genji’s eyes silently. He found so many things. Adoration, concern, exasperation (likely at being kept up without an answer), confusion, patience, and above all else — sincerity. During their fighting, the days that led up to Genji’s “death”, Hanzo had doubted the sincerity in his brother’s words and his actions and his motives. He’d doubted so many things about his precious little brother to the point where he perceived him as a danger to the clan and thus Hanzo himself. How glad he was to be so wrong.

Brushing his fingers across Genji’s forehead absentmindedly, Hanzo cracked a smile and nodded. “Apologies, little brother,” he said. “I was lost in thought.”

“You do not say,” Genji teased, his eyes crinkling at the corner as he smiled, looking much younger than his thirty-five years would suggest. “What is on your mind, brother?”

Laying his hand on his knee, Hanzo tried not to let his thoughts wander with thoughts of the ocean spray or the coming sunrise.

“I often think back to that night,” Hanzo slowly nodded, staring down at his hands. “I remember you, I remember  _ _me__ , I remember the… aftermath. But there is something you should know, something that  _ _I__  wanted to tell you — when I  _ _knew__ that you were…” He glanced at Genji from the corner of his eye. “You.”

“What is that?”

He knew he didn’t deserve a modicum of the patience that Genji showed him time and time again. Even now, the easy-going if not mildly exasperated expression on his brother’s face gave way to one of confusion and worry. Hanzo swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting away the slight sting in his eyes by blinking and filling his lungs with cold air to force out the words lodged inside.

“The night you died,” he started, if not blurted out, Genji’s eyes widening by a fraction and his eyebrows reaching up to his hairline. “Someone was born. Someone that was very important to you.”

Genji’s gaze shifted from left to right, his silence grating at Hanzo’s nerves.

“Shingen?”

“No, not Shingen,” Hanzo sighed, resisting the urge to cringe at the thought. “His birthday is in January, actually…”

Genji’s head tilted to the side, silently and politely asking Hanzo to get on with it and if the subject was anything easier than this then he would have. Swallowing his fears, Hanzo started again, trying to keep his voice even but failing spectacularly.

“A little girl, officially known as Tanaka Tsubaki was born on May 5th, 2066. You recall Tanaka Miyu, the girl you met at 7th Heaven…”

Waiting for the glimmer of recognition in Genji’s eyes as the other shoe fell, his shoulders squaring and hands curling into fists.

“Wait, are you— brother, are you saying..”

Hanzo nodded, “Yes.”

“But that’s impossible, Miyu and I…” Genji’s voice trailed off, and though he was looking at Hanzo, his gaze was somewhere far away. Glazed over with the look belonging to a man reliving his past. Hanzo knew it well, seeing that look everyday in the mirror. Turning his head away to face the horizon while Genji found his voice, Hanzo felt exhausted and worn but the weight lifted from his shoulders was insurmountably worth it.

“No, no, no. She would… the child… Tsubaki, she would be Shingen’s age now.”

Hanzo couldn’t find it in himself to tease his little brother for the “shocking” revelation. He had ten years to come to terms with the fact that Genji’s daughter drew breath while he did not. And only six months to realize that the latter wasn’t true at all.

“Correct.”

“And you are just now telling me this?!”

The dam broke. Genji’s voice raising and Hanzo’s eyes opening as the question he’d been waiting for finally arrived. Hesitantly, Genji’s hands raised and a million thoughts ran through Hanzo’s mind. He’d envisioned death sat his brother’s hands more often than he was comfortable with but not at this place. Not having this conversation. A part of him that was ready for the “inevitable” fight between them reared its head but was quickly smothered by the crushing weight of guilt. Genji’s trembling hands came together, wringing alongside one another, the scrape of metal instead of the scratch of flesh sobering to Hanzo’s senses.

“You’re insinuating that I…  _ _I__  had a daughter — “

Hanzo scowled. “You  _ _have__ a daughter,” he corrected, dismissing the sharp glare Genji gives him. “The night we fought was Tsubaki’s tenth birthday.”

Genji’s face fell as he ceased his ministrations. Hanzo keeping his gaze, watching pensively before continuing on.

“The reason Shingen and Hayao were not present is that they were spending the day with her at their mother’s behest.”

Shaking his head vehemently, Genji pushed to his feet although he stumbled backward from the speed of his movement. And just as he did when they were boys, Hanzo rose after him, movement fluid and graceful as he'd been taught, hands held out to catch his brother should he fall. Genji righted himself and removed his helmet with trembling hands, his scarred visage meeting Hanzo's unflinchingly. 

  
"You married," he said, eyes searching Hanzo's face. "And I wasn't there."   
  
Hanzo swallowed and let his eyes shut for just a second. Though a second was long enough for him to visualize that day. His bride-to-be taking his hand, facing him with an understanding smile that reassured him in ways that he couldn't begin to describe. Sojiro, their mother, the elders, and so many others bearing witness to the union. Yet as happy and joyous as the occasion should've been, Hanzo still couldn't tear his gaze away from the empty spot where Genji should have been. Some of the servants jokingly made bets on where the unruly young master must have been. The bride-to-be having heard them ordered them to stay their tongues and have some respect, all while armed with a calm and even tone and the faintest hint of a smile.   
  
A soft chuckle escaping him, Hanzo opened his eyes and nodded resolutely.   
  
"You were not," he agreed, sighing. "But she did not hold it against you."   
  
In fact, he could remember her laughter. Clear and ringing like the toll of bells as they walked through the gardens, arm in arm. She'd even suggested that Genji had the right idea by not attending but lamented that if either of them skipped out that the party would've been even duller. Her smile and the twinkle in her eyes eased Hanzo's fears back then. The idea that the two of them would be forever at war with one another, doomed to hate one another to their dying day. She squeezed his arm and put a finger to her lips, and pointing over his shoulder, they watched as Genji scaled over the wall piss-drunk and stumbling.   
  
"Why don't we help him?" She asked, tapping Hanzo's chin and guiding his head towards her with a hand cupped at his jaw, upon noticing the beginning of his "angry face".    
  
He'd been so foolish back then.    
  
Telling her that she needn't debase herself by helping his foolish brother.   
  
He could still recall the way her smile fell and the unspoken disapproval in her eyes. As a young man, a proud yet blind man, he tried to tell himself that he helped his brother out of pity - not because his wife's disappointment shook him.   
  
"You were married," Genji said, rousing Hanzo from his thoughts.    
  
He looked at his younger brother whose expression was nothing short of downtrodden. Voice wavering, sounding so innocent and broken and young, nothing like the wise man that'd confronted him in Hanamura. The part of Hanzo that'd once wanted to protect Genji from all manner of harm, physical and mental, raged at the sight of tears glazing his brother's irises. It snapped at him for causing it and though he wanted to reach out to Genji, hold him close, and apologize for not making more of an effort, for not trying—he couldn't.

  
The damage had been done and now they had to heal.    
  
Keeping his hands to hisself was hard. Fingers curling into fists, nails digging into the palm of his hand as he listened to his brother mumble on.   
  
"You were married," Genji repeated, a tiff of broken laughter breaking the sentence. "You had children, you had a life... and I wasn't there. I wasn't included in any of it and I became a father.. a father and I.. I wasn't even allowed to be a part of her life."   
  
Try as he might, nothing could have prepared him for the vacant stare Genji leveled him with.   
  
"Why?" Genji asked, hissing a stuttered breath, voice broken and wavering.  It almost reminded Hanzo of that night. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
Hanzo's gut twisted and clenched, mouth run dry, and no amount of excuses or justifications could have assuaged his own guilt.    
  
“If I recall," he said, regaining his composure and looking upon his brother with a steely gaze. "We weren’t on speaking terms nor were you in any way wanting to be associated with the family business.”   
  
A fire burned in Genji's eyes, the vacant stare replaced with one of livid indignation.  “Do not twist my words, Hanzo," he spat, Hanzo recoiling as his brother spoke his name with such venom. "The birth of my nephew -- my daughter -- isn’t part of the clan’s bloody history.”   
  
“Isn’t it?” Hanzo began, stone cold and quiet, a blizzard in midst of Genji's inferno. “Shingen is the eldest, my eldest, his birth means an heir to take the throne after my death. Tsubaki was born shortly after him, if not a leader, then she could be a potential tool to the clan, a weapon — and you don’t think that is part of the clan’s bloody history?”   
  
The more he spoke, the clearer his mind became. He recalled that night. Shingen's quiet entrance into the world, his mother's weary smile, their father's smile, holding his son for the first time, and turning to find his brother wasn't even there.   
  
"You were out every night doing ancestors knows what! I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to be a part of this, but the line that'd been drawn between us hindered any talk of brotherhood, family, you thought I hated you but I was nothing more than a nuisance to you! An obstacle for you to live the life you wanted."   
  
They'd texted him. They'd pestered him in every way imaginable but Genji might've thrown out his phone or turned it off or lost it. Was that when the love between them had faltered?    
  
Was that where Hanzo had drawn the line?   
  
"I didn't want that life for us!" Genji shouted, and Hanzo had to resist the urge to flinch, meeting his brother's glare with one of his own. "But you constantly pressured me just as father did! If anyone was a tool for the elders, it was you!"

Hanzo’s eyes widened by a fraction as Genji’s words echoed in the space between them, ringing in his ears and reverberating off the steel walls and units. Chest heaving and panting, eyes wet with tears, Genji’s lips sealed shut and Hanzo could see the dawning horror in his brother’s wide eyes. Shutting his eyes, Hanzo turned his head away and greeted the cool breeze with a heavy heart. Lapsing into silence, Genji’s stuttered gasps and stilted words weren’t acknowledged but the cold metallic fingers touching Hanzo’s shoulder were harder to ignore.

Eyebrows knitted together, nose scrunched, he opened his eyes and met his brother’s gaze.

“Hanzo, I— I didn’t...” 

“There is no excuse for what I did,” Hanzo interrupts, ignoring the sharp breath Genji takes. “I know that —  though if you will permit me, I feel there is much that was left unsaid.”

He laid his hand on top of Genji’s, squeezing the metal digits in his own, the difference in temperature and obvious lack of flesh a sobering reminder.

“Shingen was born in January, on the 15th, and it was — surreal.”

Holding such a tiny human being. Hearing the dragons whisper and coo to him in the dead of night, soothing his tears before they could fall, loving him with such ferocity that even Hanzo was taken aback. Fatherhood had taken him by storm (he’d almost laughed at the irony).

"His mother didn't want him to be raised in the manner that the Elders and our  _ betters _ saw fit," the memory of his son’s birth, bittered by the elders’ bickering over how he should be properly trained and raised, was sweetened again by his wife’s scoff and look of disdain. "They thought she was just like you, a danger to the clan, to our honor, to our family."

Hanzo huffed, recalling her laughter and her smile. "I agreed with her," he sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a hesitant smile.  “And the night I was given the order, I wanted to refuse with every fiber of my being but—”

Unwittingly, he squeezed Genji’s hand and felt the ache in his knuckles as his brother squeezed back.

“They — no,  _ Uncle Nobuyuki _ told me it was in my best interest,” Hanzo blurted out, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. “You could not be suffered to live or else my progeny would…”

‘Not be suffered to live,’ his mind supplied.

“They didn’t,” Genji gasped, withdrawing his hand when Hanzo looked him in the eyes. “Hanzo, they  _ wouldn’t _ ..”

It was almost laughable. His little brother, destroyed by his own hand, insinuating that a clan built off the blood and tears of its people wouldn’t harm a child. But the hope in Genji’s eyes killed any sense of sardonic humor Hanzo might’ve felt. No — he told himself. It wasn't hoping for the clan but for what shred of humanity, of  _ family _ they had left.

“They tore him from her arms,” he continued, releasing Genji’s hand. “Your blood wasn’t the only shed that night.”

“She’s dead?”

Hanzo’s breath hitched and his eyes widened, hand curling into a tight fist. “No,” he  _ growled _ , catching himself as soon as the fit of anger passed, sighing. “No. By the time our confrontation was done and I returned, we were both stained in red, and Shingen was —” 

His voice trailed off as the image painted itself in his mind. Swaying and stumbling through the halls, hands aching, blood caked on his clothing, in the crevices of his nails, in the locks of his hair, vision hazed and blurred at the edges, muscles aching for rest but mind demanding to see it through to the end. He’d tripped over his feet more than once, felt the invisible eyes watching him but it couldn’t stop him from moving on. To the room with a beautiful view of the gardens, where he and his wife would sit with their infant son and talk quietly while he slept. 

Birds would sing, the shishi-odoshi would clack and Shingen would wiggle in his blanket, wanting to see the water trickle down the bamboo. Hanzo could hear his younger self laugh, brokenly  _ wearily _ , urging his battered body to get there. Sliding open the shoji door, praying his efforts were not in vain, heart stuttering as the blade of his wife’s kaiken was pressed to his throat.

His gaze traveling to the crib where their infant child slept, the gentle rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable but  _ there _ , and the relief washed over Hanzo. His knees finally buckling as he fell to the ground, his wife’s kaiken clattering to the floor as she caught him, hugging him tightly.

Neither of them cried, not openly, but the fear was there.

They weren’t safe even in their own home.

"I wanted to tell you everything," Hanzo stammered, blinking away the memory, breathing deeply once he found his center.  "About Tsubaki, about my sons, their mother, Miyu,  _ me _ .."

All of those days he spent kneeling in front of the shrine he’d made for Genji, were they all for naught?   
  
"I wanted you to be a part of it but this.." his voice cracked and he swallowed thickly, having not cried in years, it was strange how he could still tell when the urge was there — but his pride wouldn’t allow him to shed a tear. "The divide between us was too great for me to cross over alone, little brother."

_ And yet why didn’t I try to reach out to you, just a little bit more? _

  
"And Tsubaki, she was — is — Genji's daughter. If I allowed her to come to harm, I would have lost what bit of him I had left."

Genji’s browed furrowed and he grabbed Hanzo by his shoulders. The latter’s eyes widening as he met his brother’s fiery gaze, Genji shaking him lightly.   
  
"I  _ am _ Genji, brother," he insisted, almost pleadingly. "I am right  _ here _ ."

Hanzo blinked several times in amazement as Genji’s hands trembled.   
  
"You can tell me everything, _ everything _ that you'd been holding back, I am not afraid."

Green hair, wild eyes, a defiant grin even in the face of death — he’d seen what Genji looked like when he was afraid. And this wasn’t fear in his brother’s face, in his eyes, he was still fighting. Hanzo released the breath he’d been holding. Perhaps it was time for them to fight on the same side.   
  
"And neither am I," he said, laying his hand on Genji’s shoulders, shifting away from the vents cirling with green light. "You are right, you are  _ here _ ."

He gave Genji a light shake, breathing in deep.    
  
"I see that now, but you are different as am I.”   
  
He stared at Genji and Genji stared back at him but the divide didn’t seem so great anymore.   
  
"It will take time to be brothers as we should have been from the beginning."

Genji rolled his eyes, a slight smile forming as he leaned close, whispering conspiratorally. "We will have many arguments, is that not what you said?"   
  
"It is," Hanzo chuckled, patting his brother’s shoulder, easing out of his hold with a wistful sigh. “...She knows.. Tsubaki does… she knows what happened that night.”

“How?”

Hanzo’s smile was rueful, shrug painfully casual. “I told her.”

“W-Why would you do that?”   
  
“It was better that she hear it from me than anyone else,” Hanzo explained, running his fingers through the greying hair at his temples. “I told her and she yelled at me. Asked me why. Why did I take her father away?”   


He looked at Genji, letting his gaze roam over his brother’s body, drinking in the image of what he’d done.   
  
“She thought you hated her,” he continued, looking away. “That you didn’t want her because she was a girl or she did something bad.”

Hanzo shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of his niece’s crying face.   
  
“And I told her no. That you would have loved her if you’d gotten a chance to meet her.”

Tsubaki’s tears slowly drying, the way she looked at him with trust and love, appreciation that her uncle would give her the answers she’d long sought. He’d held onto that look with all of his might.    
  
“That I was the one who took that chance away.”

The last time his niece would ever see him that way again.   
  
“Brother…”

Genji reached out to him but Hanzo shied away from his touch, shaking his head.   
  
“And she hates me.”

The reddish hue surrounding her body, the way she cried, her questions, her scream chasing him even in his dreams.    
  
“And I deserve it—“ He seethed, keeping his eyes closed even as Genji grabbed him and turned him around.   
  
“I have forgiven you,” Genji insisted.   
  
“This is not your place to forgive, Genji,” Hanzo said with a grim smile, breaking free of his hold and opening his eyes. “Do you remember how angry we were when Father was gone?”

Genji looked away and said nothing — he didn’t have to. Hanzo remembered. Their father’s place at the table, during meetings, their training sessions, left vacant. Wounds that’d just began to heal opened anew. Genji, spitting mad and lashing out at anyone that got too close, regardless of their intentions. Crying himself to sleep after returning home on a binge, ignoring even their mother’s hardest attempts to console him. Hanzo’s grief manifested differently, using work and training to stave off the pain and sadness. At one point he told himself that it was necessary for the heir to be in control of his emotions.

He hadn’t realized he was never in control at all.    
"We'd known him our entire lives and to see him at that time was too much to bear," Hanzo said, closing his eyes. " _ Tsubaki _ , she'd never known you aside from stories and pictures and moments stolen that she was not able to a part of. Her anger is unimaginable, and I deserve every bit of it."

He still remembered her eyes. So wide and bright, innocent and cheerful, enraptured in the tales woven about her father — ones the Elders wished she didn’t know in fear of replicating his rebellion.  But she had every right to know, every ground imaginable to ask about the father that was taken from her so recklessly. 

“Where is she, Hanzo?” Genji asked with unbridled determination.

The look in his eye nothing short of a man with conviction, and Hanzo was almost certain his own face reflected a tired warrior worn from the fight.

“Safe.”

“What does that mean?” Genji snapped.

“She will come here in time,” Hanzo interrupted, raising a hand to silence his brother from speaking. “But you must trust me, Genji.”

Trust. 

That is what guided him out here to talk to Genji about this. A subject that could very well have led to the end of his life should his brother will it. Out of anger, out of betrayal, out of justice for the life he was robbed of. Hanzo had paid his last respects to his sons on the way up, but a part of him regretted it. The cold seeped into his bones, his very  _ soul _ was aching.

He just wanted this to be done with. To move forward. 

_ What a selfish man _ .

“There are three children in this world capable of controlling the Dragons, Genji,” Hanzo explained, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Three impressionable malleable young minds susceptible to any degree of brainwashing, torture, or heavens knows what else. We must ensure this place is secure and open up a channel for Tsubaki to come without fear of persecution.  _ Brother _ , the safest place for Tsubaki, the safest place for Shingen and Hayao is here with us.”

The heat in Genji’s gaze ebbed away. He stepped back, turning away from Hanzo and muttering a few curses under his breath, pacing towards where he left his helmet then back. Hands wringing, he muttered a few more times then groaned, burying his face in his palm. Hanzo sighed. Some things just never changed. Even his brother’s fitful tantrums when he knew Hanzo was right.

After a breath and a moment of silence, Hanzo spoke up,  “And she wanted to meet you.”   
  
“I didn’t know she existed,” Genji mumbled, face still hidden in his palm. “After that night, I—”   
  
“You stopped receiving Miyu’s texts and her calls,” Hanzo finished, nodding slowly, looking towards the sky. “I remember.”

He’d seen Genji in and through _many_ relationships. 

  
“But unlike all of your past.. relationships… she kept calling.”   


He knew the signs, the highs, the lows, and the moments in-between.    
  
“She kept showing up.”

But there was something else that nagged at the back of his mind with Miyu.   
  
“And she  _ pleaded _ .”

Hanzo shuddered but it had nothing to do with the cold.   
  
“The clan tried to silence her but…” 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Genji jolt upright and look at him horrified.   
  
“She was with child,” Hanzo said, hesitantly placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That is how I knew.”   


Genji stared at him but said nothing. Hanzo could practically see the wheels turning in his brother’s mind, the way he fought against his realization, eyebrows furrowing, mouth moving but no words coming out.

  
“How could I do this?” Genji whispered, his hands trembling as he looked down at them. “A daughter. _My_ daughter.”  
  
Hanzo reached out to steady him but Genji turned on him quickly, squaring his shoulders.  
  
“Were you there?” He asked, eyes wild and desperate. “When she was born?”  
  
Hanzo nodded, keeping his voice even despite his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I was.”  
  
“What does she look like?”  
  
“Honestly, she favors you.”

A little smile broke free and Hanzo willed himself to smile in turn, both brothers easing away from one another as if hesitant to touch or breathe the same air. While Genji secured his helmet, Hanzo looked out over the ocean and felt the weight lift from his shoulders only for another to take its place. Once Genji was prepared, he walked past Hanzo, waiting for him by the doorway and slipping inside as he followed.

The walk back to their respective dorms was painfully silent, the camaraderie they’d built hanging from a thread. Standing outside his door, Hanzo punched in the code and took a step inside when Genji called out to him.    
  
“When is she coming, Hanzo?"

The question he’d been dreading.

Hanzo shut his eyes and prayed to the ancestors for strength, before glancing at his brother over his shoulder.   
  
“In time, brother,” he said. “Now that you know, we will have to tell the others. Make a plan.”

When Genji said nothing, Hanzo turned around to face him.   
  
“How many more secrets are you keeping, Hanzo?”

With his visor on, Hanzo couldn’t gauge the look in Genji’s eyes but he knew. He knew that tone of voice and he welcomed it with as much grace as a kinslayer — a brother — a father hoping to make amends could.   
  
“From you, little brother?”

He smiled.   
  
“None.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Overwatch or these characters, the only ones that I have claim over are the original character(s) I've made.
> 
> Okay guys, I don't know where to start with this chapter. I've been working on it since before New Years and I wasn't able to get it the way that I wanted to. I'd just keep writing and writing and it wouldn't really stick, so I tried different angles and this is the one that went the best. So instead of saying, "Nope, nope, nope. Scrap it all." I gave it to you. Because this is the chapter that begins another arc in Family Is Who You Choose, and I know that it's jumping around in different ways but there is so much to explore and I'm piecing it together a bit at a time.
> 
> So for this. It delves a little more into Hanzo and Genji's relationship, how they're coming back together, their hang-ups and such and it also introduces two new characters.
> 
> Hanzo's wife, the mother of Shingen and Hayao.
> 
> Genji's daughter, Tsubaki.
> 
> A relative of the Shimadas, called "Uncle Nobuyuki".
> 
> And Tsubaki's mother, Miyu.
> 
> I don't know if anyone is interested in my headcanons or the way that I'm going about this but I've raised so many questions to myself that I couldn't imagine the questions you all might have. This and seeing Hanzo so torn up just makes me _wonder_. Like, how far are we going down this rabbit hole? I'm the writer, I should know this but it's something new everytime I sit down with these characters.
> 
> Anyway, there is a companion story to this one called **Choose Wisely** , and if you're interested in what Hanzo was refrencing in the talk between him and Tsubaki, it's CH 1. I recommend you give it a read because that was also a tad bit emotional.
> 
> If you liked this, leave a kudo, a comment, subscribe for updates, and you can find headcanons and such about the OC kids and my take on the Overwatch world at my Tumblr **@familyiswhoyouchoose**. 
> 
> See ya!


	6. Speak Your Truth (Overwatch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of explaining to do, blame thrown around, accusations made, and truths revealed. All in all, conference meetings are a bitch.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're just getting into Family Is Who You Choose and are reading it out of order, you may want to read the first chapter of my fic "Choose Wisely" because it gives some insight. Also, chapters four through seven are pivotal to this conversation.

It is late morning when the meeting is called. Winston clambers into his tire swing and shifts restlessly as the other agents pile into the conference room, pensive and fully aware of the brothers standing side by side on one side of the round table. While most agents take their seats and exchange fleeting glances and hesitant smiles or confused shrugs, McCree sits with his hat tilted low over his eyes and Angela Ziegler with her back ramrod straight. After the doors slide shut with a soft hiss, a silence falls over the room and Genji who’d been hovering close to Hanzo’s side lifts his head as if he was coming to consciousness for the first time.

“Everyone,” he says, the synthetic undertone to his voice warbling. “My brother and I—” He hesitated, head tilting towards Hanzo who met his visor with a blank gaze. “We —”

“You are stalling, little brother,” Hanzo interrupted cooly, speaking in their native tongue, a faint smile playing on his lips. “There is a matter at hand that I must address.”

His gaze swept over the room’s occupants as if looking for something pivotal. And once he found it, he nodded resolutely and stood at full height, shoulders squared and lips set in a grim line. The attention of everyone presented gravitated towards him, even McCree who flicked his hat up and regarded Hanzo from the corner of his eye.

“As you all are aware, a condition in my admittance to Overwatch’s ranks was the protection of all non-combatants under my care with the approval of Strike Commander Winston and the current ranking agents,” Hanzo said without pause, his voice firm and unwavering. “Currently, there are two non-combatants under my care, however, upon residing within Overwatch’s ranks for the past six months — ascertaining the ability (His gaze traveled to McCree) of its members, and the quality of care (He then looks towards Angela who meets his gaze evenly), of its medical staff, I divulged information to my brother about another non-combatant vital to our family.”

“Vital in what way?” Winston asked, adjusting his glasses.

Hanzo glanced towards Genji, the latter giving him a curt nod, then looked forward, “The non-combatant in question is Genji’s daughter.”

Silence fell over the room again but instead of the pensive anticipating lull, it was tense and thick with unspoken emotion. Hanzo’s gaze flicked between the agents’ faces, gauging their reactions without a word.

Angela’s eyes were wide but instead of resting on him, she was looking pointedly at Genji.

Lena, who’d been quiet and smiling up till the announcement, sat with a blank unreadable expression. She shifted and leaned forward in her chair, looking towards Winston.

The scientist staring at Hanzo as if he’d grown a second head or told him he invented a way to revolutionize the making of crunchy peanut butter.

Soldier 76’s expression was unreadable by the visor covering his face but he did sit up further in his chair and lay his fists on the table.

Fareeha Amari, otherwise known as Pharah, stared at Hanzo for a long while then shifted her gaze to Genji where it lingered. Hanzo couldn’t say what she was feeling.

McCree said nothing, letting his hat slip over his eyes again.

“I knew it had to be something,” Angela said, chuckling mirthlessly and covering her face with her hand. “But a child.”

“I beg your pardon, Doctor Ziegler?” Hanzo asks, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“Secrets, Mister Shimada,” she spat, uncovering her face, the livid eyes of a woman scorned boring into his own. “Secrets are what tore Overwatch asunder the first time, and I knew you were hiding something from us.”

“It was not my intention to keep this from Overwatch out of malice, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Yes, well there are many things you have done that weren’t intentionally malicious, now aren’t there?”

Hanzo reeled back from her words, a gasp emanating from Lena and a low whistle from McCree. Genji’s hackles were raised but the sound of his forgiveness died once Hanzo laid a hand on his shoulder, bidding him to remain silent with a glance. Though before Hanzo could say a word, another voice overlapped his own.

“Now hold on there, Angie,” McCree interrupted, tilting his hat up. “What happened between them two has nothing to do with this.”

Angela shoots him a scathing glare but McCree looks utterly unfazed, turning to Hanzo with a slight smile — parts friendly and parts business.

“From the looks of it, Genji ain’t surprised about this at all, which means he either knew or you told him.”

Hanzo nodded, his hand slipping from his brother’s shoulder as the cowboy’s gaze gravitated towards the gesture.

“Must’ve been recent, gotta give a man some credit (McCree’s huff interrupted the sentence, his chair scooting back as he kicked up his feet on the table to 76’s displeasure) he told us as soon as he was ready, and we all know that the truth ain’t the easiest thing to swallow.”

At that, many of the agents looked away or at one another. Taking the opportunity laid by McCree, Hanzo continued recounting the story from how he told it to Genji. His brother’s hand hovered a mite closer to his own, and Hanzo didn’t object nor tense at the feeling of his metal fingers touching his own. For a split second, his speech broke and just like when they were boys, he held Genji’s hand keeping it out of view from prying eye.  Once he was done speaking, another wave of silence fell as each agent took a moment to process.

Eventually, Lena spoke up, her cheery disposition replaced with one of seriousness, “So this little girl is somewhere out there with the same people looking for you after her?”

Hanzo nodded solemnly.

“Well, forgive me for being frank love, but why didn’t you bring her with you?”

Genji looked towards Hanzo at that and the latter sighed, squeezing his younger brother’s fingers despite the pain that came from metal pinching his flesh.

“We escaped from Hanamura two years ago, Miss Oxton. Shingen was eight years old at the time, and Hayao would have been four very soon.”

Hanzo’s eyes mist over as he stares into the distance.

“It was unwise to travel with small children, to begin with, but time was of the essence.”

His head swims with the details. Faces, names, crying, smiles, blood — so much blood.

“My wife (He almost misses the way McCree’s gaze hardens, blinking into focus and glancing towards the cowboy before looking forward) at the time, left with Tsubaki and her mother to ensure their safety.”

His other hand turns over, palm facing the ceiling as if being offered to someone but upon realizing no one was there to take it, he shuts it and lays it by his side.

“We kept contact briefly but it has been two years since then — two years of running and hiding, close calls as you would say… and moments of uncertainty.”

He tries not to wince, bitterness sitting on his tongue at the thought of it.

“I would lay down my life for my children, but if a moment of error or wrong judgment were to end the life of my brother’s only child — I would never be able to face them again and no amount of forgiveness would atone.”

Angela leans back in her chair, appearing distraught and lost, while Lena looks down with a faraway gaze. Winston rubs at his eyes and 76 unhinges his fists, McCree looking down and Pharah sighing as she spoke up.

“How do we find her?”

At that, Hanzo is mildly surprised but the determination in the former security agent’s eyes spurs him to keep going.

“As I am aware, upon coming to  Overwatch, bugs were placed in my belongings along with my quarters. There is no need to be alarmed, I am aware of why it was necessary. With your leave, Strike Commander, I would like   to have a rendezvous to ensure Tsubaki’s well-fare and bring her home if possible.”

“Just like that, huh?” McCree interjected, his tone light but an underlying weight to his words.

“It would be unwise to leave a person capable of utilizing the Dragons where any number of forces could ascertain their power,” Hanzo explains, frowning when the cowboy refuses to meet his eyes. “The safest place for Tsubaki is here.”

“Mighty bit of trust you’re placing in us, Shimada,” McCree says cryptically.

“Only a fraction of what has been placed in me,” Hanzo replies without missing a beat, then tearing his gaze from the cowboy, he regards Winston and bows at the waist relinquishing his brother’s hand.

He hears a soft gasp from Genji and another from across the table but doesn’t raise his head to regard either.

“By your leave, Strike Commander.”

To his surprise, he hears the hiss of Genji’s helmet being removed and thump of it being set on the table. His brother’s mused hair coming into view as he bowed by Hanzo’s side. Hanzo glancing at him with wide eyes but Genji’s gaze is on the ground. So much unlike the defiant boy he’d been years ago. Something in Hanzo’s chest aches for the boy he once was.

“Genji…” Angela whispers.

“I know that I owe much to Overwatch,” Genji interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, “More than I can ever repay, but if I may ask — please. I want to see her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no good at author's notes. 
> 
> So how do I explain this? Uhm.. this is a bit of a bridge-over or a crossing point between the last chapter and the next one where Tsubaki is finally revealed. I've been steadily working on how to show her without just being like: "Oh hey, here she is." (Throws her in) Like to introduce the new kids, I have to sort of backtrack and explain where they came from, what happened, how did they get here?
> 
> And I didn't intend on this when I first started Family Is Who You Choose but as time went on and these kids became even more real, I had to put in a lot more effort and time than I did before and try to figure out who they are. What value do they add to Overwatch's story and the next generation. 
> 
> So with that being said, this is part of Tsubaki's origin story and also ties into Shingen and Hayao's. I feel like Blizzard, oh god. Okay, but so far what we know is --
> 
> Tsubaki is on the run from the Shimada with her mother and her aunt.
> 
> She is the same age as Shingen and grew up around Shingen and Hayao.
> 
> Hanzo told her of his involvement with Genji's lack of presence in her life, and we're not sure aside from the first chapter of Choose Wisely how she feels about that and how it changed her.
> 
> Her dragon's color is red.
> 
> ... and what exactly happened that night when they left Hanamura. 
> 
> Find out on the next chapter of Family Is Who You Choose (I always wanted to do the DBZ thing).
> 
> But seriously, if you guys like these chapters or have any comments or questions or want to give feedback, feel free to comment below. 
> 
> I also put headcanons and such on my blog @familyiswhoyouchoose on Tumblr, aaand.. see you guys in the next update.


	7. Last Words (Hanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo reflects on the past and softer moments in time.  
> 

To say that he was tired would have been an understatement. With disputes from the elders weighing down his conscious, threats against his family laid plainly at his doorstep and meetings upon meetings taking him further from the comfort of home — Hanzo wasn’t just tired. He was downright exhausted. Trudging home, his feet dragging and head bowed, he tensed at the feeling of eyes on him and hesitantly lifted his head.

“Tomoe,” he said, breathing her name with a sigh. ‘It is late, why are you—”

She crossed the space between them with a few short strides, pressing her finger to his lips, effectively silencing any protests. Once it was clear that he’d say nothing further, Tomoe smiled and traced the curve of his jaw with her fingertips, taking his face in her hands and tilting his head down so their foreheads touched. Hanzo breathed in deep and let his eyes flutter shut, hesitantly tracing the curves at her sides, holding her closer by her hips as her arms encircled his neck.

He tucked his face in the hollow of her throat and trembled. A voice that sounded just like his father’s told him that he was behaving like a child. Mannerisms unbefitting of the heir to Shimada. And disgraceful for its leader. Weakness couldn’t be shown, crying was appalling, he had to be in control. Swallowing a sob, Hanzo squeezed Tomoe and shuddered.  The faint smell of strawberries clinging to her skin calmed him and her hold shifted from around his neck to his shoulders, holding him firm but loose enough that he could break free.

Hanzo was certain she’d let him go if he asked but he didn’t want to move. Not right now. And Tomoe said nothing, just held him in the quiet of their home, amidst the long shadows.  Deft fingers combed through his hair, musing it from the carefully styled look he had to maintain after ruefully cutting it one night. He still remembered her face when he dragged himself home. The way her smile faded and she practically dragged him to the bathroom, sitting him down and taking a pair of scissors to what remained.

“I won’t ask, Hanzo,” is what she said then, tilting his head back. Though the sake blurred his vision, somehow she managed to come through clear and perfect. Her dark eyes boring into his own, thick dark hair framing her face and making an iron curtain that shielded him from the rest of the world. He leaned into the hand pressed to his cheek, blinking a few times and meeting her gaze, realizing the sternness that he expected wasn’t there.

Concern.

She was concerned for him.

Hanzo swallowed thickly, reminding himself it was shameful to cry. But he did lean into her and she wrapped her arms around him just as she did now.

“Are the boys —”

“They are sleeping.”

Hanzo nodded slowly, pulling his face from her neck and straightening up with a long-suffering sigh.

“You did not have to wait for me,” he said wearily, knowing what would come next.

The corners of her lips curved up into a smile, eyebrow raised. “When have I ever done anything I did not want to, anata?”

* * *

 

Hanzo’s eyes cracked open. Turning his head to the side, his cheek pressed against the pillow, he reached out to the other side of his bed but was met with empty space. Spreading his fingers across the sheets then curling them into a fist, he sighed and forced himself to look at the ceiling. From the corner of his eye, the LED clock flashed 03:06 in bright blue letters, rotating to Athena’s symbol shortly after. His gaze lingered on the time once it appeared again, reaching out to trace his finger along the numbers until they faded to Athena’s symbol.

Tomoe’s voice, hauntingly beautiful and soft, echoed in his ears. Her question, although a distant memory, still requiring an answer. Hanzo chuckled brokenly and pressed his hand to his eyes. With them shut, and even with them open, he could still see her. Waiting with that crooked smile, the feeling of her hands on his face so vivid that he almost wanted to believe she was right there.

_When have I ever done anything I did not want to, anata?_

“Never,” he replied, his voice much louder in the stillness and quiet.

When he lifted his hand and braved opening his eyes, she wasn’t there. Just the darkness, the light from his alarm clock and his own thoughts. Hanzo mentally chastised himself for allowing the sweeter memories of his family to sour. As if the nightmares of Genji’s screaming and his pleading expression were not enough. Even Tomoe’s smile and her laughter haunted him. Although he did not miss the life he had being smothered beneath the elders' thumb, he did yearn for the simpler moments.

Hayao’s first steps.

Shingen’s first words.

Tomoe’s cheering as she turned around, eyes bright and gesturing to their children animatedly, grinning at him.

“Hanzo!” She’d say and he would listen every time.

His eyes slipped shut as he tried to mediate his breaths, clinging to the thought of Tomoe’s smile. Memories from that early morning rushing back. The feel of her hand around his wrist pulling him down the hall, a finger against her lips and slight bounce to her gait.

* * *

 

“It is three in the morning, Tomoe,” Hanzo sighed, smiling slightly as his wife huffed and slipped her hand into his.

“So it is, but you are not getting off that easily, and if I don’t show you this then you’ll feel terrible for missing out.”

Eyebrow raised, Hanzo fell into step beside her, stopping when they came to the door leading to Shingen’s bedroom. Tomoe looked up at him and mouthed to stay silent before sliding the door open, both of them peeking inside. With only a single pillow beneath their heads, Shingen and Hayao laid comfortably on Shingen’s futon, a comforter pulled up to Hayao’s chest. Hanzo blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things correctly then glanced to Tomoe who smiled impishly at him.

“When did this start?” Hanzo whispered, gaze flicking between the boys and his wife.

Tomoe hummed. “Two weeks ago? Hayao started crying in the middle of the night, and before the JN-860 could respond, Shingen brought him to his room.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure how to feel about that. JN-860s were designed for childrearing and basic emergencies, and although he didn’t want to leave the care of his children to an omnic, it was arguably safer than a human. Aside from the idea of loyalties.  Shaking his head, Hanzo slid the door open a little wider and stepped inside, keeping a safe distance from the boys when he knelt down. Pausing for a second to look around the room, he smiled.

Shingen was only four years old but he still kept an orderly space. Books on the shelves, TV off and game controllers put away in their respective places, cords out of the way, toys with pointy ends out of Hayao’s reach, his practice sword, bow, and quiver leant set on their stands purposefully to keep them out of Hayao’s reach. Hanzo focused on his sons after nodding his approval, knowing he was making that face most adults did when catching children doing something adorable.

Shingen slept curled around his baby brother, an arm laying across Hayao’s chest, the other tucked beneath his own head. His hair braided back, was a dark splash of color against the white pillow, a sharp contrast to the tuft of dark hair Hayao had. Hanzo ran his fingers lightly through the baby’s hair, careful not to disturb him or wake Shingen by lingering too long. Hayao shifted a bit in his sleep, sniffling and Shingen stirred for a second until his little brother calmed.

Tomoe padded over, her footsteps light as she gracefully dipped and settled onto her knees beside Hanzo. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and from the corner of his eye, he could see her smiling. For a moment, they did nothing but sit and watch their children sleep, safe and sound in this little pocket of the world. Hanzo’s hand splayed on his knee was joined by Tomoe’s, their fingers lacing together and holding tight. She tilted her head back and he turned his to face her, the two sharing a smile.

Her mouth opened but instead of sound, the buzzing of a notification came out and Hanzo’s eyes snapped open.

* * *

 

“Wh—”

Fumbling around for the device, Hanzo lifted it up and shielded his eyes from the screen as it came to life. Squinting past the temporary blindness to read the message, his heart skipping a beat.

 **[03:20] MCCREE**  — Roof.

Nothing more and nothing less. Hanzo sighed and cleared it, letting his thumb linger on the communicator’s screen, his vision blurring. What else should he have expected? After everything, letting the truth come to light, Genji’s plea, did he really believe that everything would be as it once was?  Most of Overwatch’s roster didn’t trust him in one way or another, but as long as they remained cordial and treated his children with respect, he could endure it. However, maybe it was his fault for becoming attuned to the easy friendship he’d made with McCree. The slowly healing relationship with his brother.

Did he become too comfortable?

Too casual that he forgot the risks if only for a moment?

Pushing back the blankets, he froze and turned the light of his communicator to the stumps of what remained of his legs. Hanzo hesitated for a second then reached down to touch the curve of his amputated limb, running his fingers against the scarred skin, his muscles seizing up.

_“Don’t do this.”_

His eyes snapped open and he whirled around, looking over his shoulder and then the other. No one was there but he heard her voice. As clear as day, he heard Tomoe’s voice and his heart ached. Jerking his hand away, he turned and flicked on the small lamp by his bed, taking a deep breath before starting the process of connecting his legs. Slipping on a pair of sweats and forgoing a t-shirt and his hair ribbon, he pocketed his communicator and shuffled to the door.

Half-way down the hall, Hanzo stopped in mid-stride and glanced towards the door leading to the boys’ room. The absence of a hand around his wrist and a presence at his side made it difficult to breathe. His mind supplying the necessary stimuli, almost like a phantom of where she once stood. Her hand trailing down to touch his own, lacing fingers together and holding tight. He curled his fingers into a fist and breathed deep, reaching out to open the door and peek inside.

Despite the two beds they’d been supplied with, only one was used. Hayao sleeping closer to the wall while Shingen laid on the outside, curled around his brother just as he’d been as a little boy. Hanzo stepped inside and left the door ajar, reminding himself that he had an engagement with McCree but it seemed less important to this moment. Stepping lightly, he looked around the room and smiled wistfully. It wasn’t as spacious as the one they’d given Shingen in Hanamura but good enough.

_“They are just going to end up in the same place anyway,” Tomoe pointed out, watching as the boys played in the middle of the room. “Why not just let them share rooms until they get sick of each other?”_

At the time, Hanzo thought that was a terrible idea. Not wanting his sons to sour towards one another and say things or do things they would regret. However, it was hard to argue with Tomoe and her insistence of motherly instinct. And in a way, Hanzo supposed as he looked down at the pair from his perch on the unused bed, she was right. Shingen slept with one hand under his head, the other held in Hayao’s, an arm thrown protectively over his younger brother who sprawled out like a starfish.

Slowly standing up, Hanzo ambled over and shifted the blanket further up to Hayao’s chest, laying it down carefully.

“Dad?” Shingen murmured sleepily, eyes cracking open after Hanzo pulled away. “...What’s wrong?”

Hayao stirred and shifted, turning onto his side and cuddling closer to his brother’s chest. Shingen’s arm wrapping around him and gentle shushing placating him.

“I have to leave for a bit,” Hanzo whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to Hayao’s head and then Shingen’s. “I won’t be long.”

Shingen sleepily nodded but his gaze lingered on Hanzo’s back while Hanzo walked to the door, opening it wider.

“Dad?”

Hanzo looked over his shoulder. Shingen propped up on his side by an elbow, searching Hanzo’s person with his eyes. He was much like Tomoe in that regard. Always thinking out his words, taking the other person’s feelings into account and their state of being. Hanzo smiled gently. When someone knew what they were looking for, it was very easy to pick out, but to the untrained eye — barely noticeable. Shingen was getting better at it.

_One day, he’ll be just like his mother._

“I love you.”

Hanzo snapped back to reality and blinked owlishly, trying to discern whether he heard that right, but the words linger in the air and seep into his psyche. And he swallows hard, clutches the doorknob a bit tighter. Though Hanzo isn’t sure what Shingen saw or thought he might’ve seen, the old tradition keeps up. Tomoe’s insistence on those three words before every meeting, every mission, every death, every milestone.

_I love you._

Life was so uncertain for them that saying it could be the last time. When had their children grown accustomed to that way of thinking? Hanzo shuddered to know but he smiled nonetheless at the admission, regarding his son with warm eyes.

“I love you too,” he finally says, crossing over the door’s threshold and shutting it behind him, pressing his forehead to it for a beat then pulling away.


	8. Serendipity (Hanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Serendipity (n.)** — the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hanzo isn't used to sleeping in or waking up to someone else fast asleep beside him. However, it's almost noon and the dragon has awakened to see his young curled around the embodiment of the sun.

Warm pinpricks traveled up and down the expanse of Hanzo’s arm, dots dancing behind his eyelids as the waking world came into focus. He opened his eyes and blinked away sleep’s bleariness, nose scrunching and lips pinching together as the light filtering from the window temporarily blinded him. Despite the dull ache in the back of his head, his body was a comfortable weight and sunk down into the mattress. It was a step-up from the mattress they’d originally had upon coming to the Watchpoint. Though he wouldn’t admit to Winston that he replaced the moth-eaten stained excuse for a mattress with another one bought in town, he figured the scientist knew from how well-rested Hanzo appeared on a daily basis when the nightmares didn’t plague.

The knowing look Tracer had given him upon seeing him haul the mattress into the Watchpoint solidified their friendship after she made him promise to get her one as well. It wasn’t long after that most of the Watchpoint’s rooms had been refitted and taken care of.

What use was Overwatch’s agents if they couldn’t have a good night’s rest?

And Hanzo wasn’t exactly hurt for funds with the re-allocated wealth of the Shimada-gumi. Blood money had to be put to good use after all, and what was better than helping the people who’d saved his little brother’s life?

The thought of Genji’s body, crossed between an omnic and a man, tugged at Hanzo’s heartstrings and left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a wonder he slept so well as of late. His relationship with his brother was progressing at their own pace which was borderline ‘not at all’ and ‘bit by bit’, but the nightmares continued to wreak havoc on his psyche. So much so that he forgoes sleep until his body couldn’t take it any longer. Genji’s scream would leave him reeling, waking in a cold sweat and gasping for breath, reaching for someone who was a few doors down sleeping without a care. It was strange how his brother could sleep so peacefully after what he’d done but Hanzo couldn’t catch a wink on most nights.

“You’re thinking too loud,” a sleep-laden voice drawled from beside him.

Hanzo opened his eyes, tilting his head so his cheek rests against the pillow, gaze meeting Jesse McCree’s. Dark brown hair fanned against the pillow, whiskey-brown eyes twinkling in the morning sun rays and crinkled at the corners, matching the crooked grin on his lips. Hanzo’s gaze dipped to Jesse’s mouth. His lips were chapped from the sun but looked no less inviting. Gaze traveling further, dark hair fanned across Jesse’s chest and Hanzo’s eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“When I said I’d help you put the kids down,” Jesse says, Hanzo’s heart jumping when he looks at him. “I didn’ intend on stayin’, ya know.”

Memories of last night came rushing back and Hanzo groaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye sockets.

* * *

 

“Thank you for your report, Agent Hanzo.”

Hanzo stifled another long-suffering sigh. Although he appreciated the thoroughness of Winston’s work ethic, he was tired from being on the move for two weeks and very aware of the dirt caked on his skin. Above all else, he just wanted to see his sons. Video calls and messages left on his communicator were nice but not seeing his children or having to cut conversation short because of work made him feel like his father. Chills ran down Hanzo’s spine at the thought of being like Sojiro in that aspect. When his father could be, he was attentive and caring, but those moments were too few and far inbetween. He never wanted to be that way towards his sons and his antsiness must’ve showed when Ana interrupted Winston’s summary of what they’d covered thus far.

“You should spend time with your family, Hanzo,” she winks at him then gives Winston a look. Unfortunately for Hanzo, it meant his poker face was a little worn but he was thankful nonetheless when Winston stuttered out an apology. The faintest of smiles formed on Hanzo’s face as he bowed then nodded towards Ana, practically high-tailing it from the conference room. With his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his communicator in hand, he went through the last few messages left unopened.

There were a few from Hana who’d deemed herself in charge of taking care of Hanzo’s sons while he was away. Not many words, but there were tons of pictures. His eldest, Shingen, standing on top of Hana’s bean bag chair with a controller in hand. His tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. Hanzo shook his head, his smile broadening. Hana sat beside him, legs crossed, a victorious smirk on her face and eyes directed towards whoever was taking the photo, her fingers up in her signature victory sign.

The caption reading, “No mercy even for the young”.

Which was oddly appropriate seeing as the next photo was of his son on his knees, fists raised to the sky and more than likely yelling. Hanzo’s youngest, Hayao, comforting his brother with a hand on the shoulder while Hana flashed another victory sign to the person taking the picture.

The caption reading, “GG, Dadzo.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at the nickname and closed out the messages, though saving the pictures in a folder labeled ‘Shimada Kids’. Genji had put it on his communicator after Hanzo introduced him to his nephews, deeming it important to document all of the important parts of childhood. Although Hanzo was vaguely certain that his brother only wanted to “document” it to embarrass his sons later, and because their own childhood hadn’t been exactly child-friendly. Sending the photos off to Genji, he smiled a little then went back to checking his unread messages.

**(8) messages from Jesse McCree.**

Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat when he opened the first one. It was a picture of Jesse, taken from above, his arm outstretched and a crooked smile on his face. He wasn’t wearing his hat but the boy perched on his shoulders was. Shingen grinned from underneath the wide brim of Jesse’s Stetson, flicking it up just as the camera snapped. Hayao by Jesse’s side, staring up at the camera with a little smile, the Watchpoint’s kitchen behind them. A stellar mess outlined on the countertops. At further glance, it looked like what could have been peanut butter sandwiches.

Winston wouldn’t be happy when he found out that his favorite food was in short supply. Glancing down at the caption, Hanzo smiled.

**[19:35 PM] The tykes heard you’d be back soon, so they wanted to surprise you.**

Opening up the next message, Hanzo threw his head back with a bark of laughter at Jesse’s startled face. Shingen had a vice grip around his neck while Hayao was holding him around his torso as best as he could. The picture was a little blurred but Jesse’s eyes were wide, and he seemed to be off balance if the angle was anything to take into account.

**[19:40 PM] Apparently, I’m being held captive.**

The next photo, Jesse was giving a thumbs up to the camera and the boys were eating peanut butter sandwiches while sitting on the countertop. Jesse’s Stetson practically dwarfed Shingen’s head but he seemed happy enough.

**[19:45 PM] Nevermind, guess I’m the partner in crime.**

Hanzo wasn’t sure why the pictures were in five minute increments but a lot could happen within a few seconds. Apparently, a truce between two young dragons and a cowboy over peanut butter sandwiches was one of those things.

Opening up the next message, Hanzo smiled a little. Jesse wasn’t in the picture but his sons were. Shingen and Hayao peering into the camera, the former smiling widely while the latter’s face was twisted in utmost confusion.

**[19:52 PM] They said I can’t tell you where we’re going so you’re just gonna have to figure out from clues.**

With both boys blocking the scenery, Hanzo wasn’t sure where they were. Though as long as they were with Jesse, they should be fine. Hanzo blinked and stopped in his tracks. Since when did he trust anyone with his sons? Not even the capable and non-traitorous staff in Shimada Castle were trusted with his children for very long. Hanzo’s greatest fear was his children disappearing, being used as peons against him, or hurt in any scenario his traitorous brain could come up with. The idea of him trusting Jesse with his sons was both comforting and alarming. He swallowed hard, trying to banish the negative thoughts by opening the other messages and trying to decipher these clues.

The next four messages were of different areas in the Watchpoint. Hanzo could pick out the myriad of flowers in Bastion’s garden, Zenyatta and Genji in the background, though the latter was flashing a peace sign to the person taking the picture. Another was of Torbjorn’s workshop, the engineer seeming to be in the midst of a heated debate with Reinhardt. While Brigitte and Hana were talking in the background, the latter sitting in the cockpit of her mecha while the former was leaning against a ladder perched against it. Try as he might, Hanzo couldn’t figure out what the clues were but he was happy to see that everyone was getting on well in his absence.

Flicking through the next, it was of the sky.

That was it.

The picture was beautiful. Afternoon sunrays painting the sky in honey gold, wisps of clouds frozen in time by the photographer, but he couldn’t see his sons nor Jesse anywhere. Anticipation and worry cropped up but Hanzo forced them both down to open up the last message.

And his breath stilled.

Jesse, haloed by the sun, sat with Shingen and Hayao by his side. Both boys were distracted by the sunset without a doubt, giving Jesse enough time to snag his communicator and take a picture. In the light of the sun, Jesse’s eyes reminded Hanzo of melted gold. Warm, inviting, beautiful, and mesmerizing. The freckles on his cheeks, his sun-kissed skin, the cut on his upper lip and across his eye, slight flash of his teeth — it all was just so Jesse. So beautiful, handsome, wonderful that Hanzo’s mind temporarily stopped working. His gaze traveling to his sons who were occupied by the sunset, their soft smiles and awe-filled stares without a care in the world.

As if a war wasn’t being waged outside their door.

As if a clan of assassins weren’t hunting them at this very second.

As carefree as children should be.

Hanzo’s eyes softened and he glanced up to the faint buzzing lights overhead. Stuffing his communicator in his pocket and making for the rooftop without a second thought, intent on not wasting a moment to see his family. It doesn’t dawn on him that he thinks of them — his sons and Jesse as his family until he’s on the roof, watches Jesse whisper something to the boys that has them turn around and scamper to their feet, running into Hanzo’s waiting arms.

“Dad!”

He’d never been so happy to hear that word. Dropping his bag and kneeling, Hanzo scoops the boys up in his arms and gives them both a squeeze. Kisses pressed to Shingen’s forehead are mirrored onto Hayao’s, both boys laughing and trying to wiggle out from Hanzo’s hold.

“Dad, your beard is itchy.”

“C’mon, stop it!”

Holding the squirming children was hard especially when Hanzo was laughing. Though the sound of Jesse’s spurs made him sober up rather quickly, blinking at the man approaching them, stooping down to pick up his fallen hat. Once it sat on his head, Jesse looked at them and Hanzo could’ve sworn he winked.

“Now Gen, we talked about this,” Jesse said softly, ruffling Shingen’s hair. “Y’don’t leave a cowboy’s hat laying on the ground.”

Shingen grinned though he did look slightly apologetic. “Sorry,” he said, cheeks flushing pink.

  
“No harm done, kiddo. Just try to remember next time,” Jesse nodded then met Hanzo’s gaze, smiling easily and tipping the brim of his hat. “Well, nice to have you back, Han.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure what to say. A part of his brain told him to say anything so he wouldn’t be stuck staring dumbfounded at Jesse or admire how etheral he looked in the afternoon sunrays. Or how well he got along with Shingen and Hayao. Or —

“Dad, you wouldn’t guess what Jesse taught us,” Shingen interjected, breaking Hanzo’s trance.

Hayao patted Hanzo’s shoulder, shifting the man’s attention to him. “Yeah! He showed us how to make sandwiches, we made you some… but…” Hayao glanced down, fiddling with the zipper on Hanzo’s jacket.

“We kinda got hungry and ate them,” Shingen finished, smiling nervously.

“Not all of ‘em,” Jesse smirked when three sets of dark eyes focused on him, and followed as he led the way back to the rooftop entrance. “C’mon, I left some food in the fridge for your dad, and some extra sandwiches for you two.”

Hanzo let his sons down and watched them race through the door while he walked along with Jesse.

“You do know that giving them peanut butter will keep them up all night.”

“Really? Damn, well, guess I’ll have to help you put them to bed then.”

The easiness in which Jesse was able to say that coupled with the idea of spending time with him like this — domestic, soft, without the potential of death looming over their heads was nice. Now, wrangling two kids chock full of sweets wasn’t exactly his idea of an evening but it was great in its own way. Shingen recounted the tales of his horrific defeat at the hands of Hana Song while Hana posed in the background to his chagrin. Jesse caught him in between leaping at her and swearing his revenge, plopping his hat down on the boy’s head and carting him around the living area. Hayao was content with talking Hanzo’s ear off, laid across his lap and tracing the outline of the tattoo on his arm.

After afternoon turned to night, both boys were still wide awake but showing signs of slowing down. More than once, Shingen let Jesse’s hat slide over his eyes as he took a short five second nap then jolted upright, continuing to watch the movie they’d put on for the Watchpoint’s amusement. Everyone was getting a kick out of watching both boys try to stay awake. Shingen, tucked by Jesse’s side was jolting awake every few seconds while Hayao was struggling to keep his eyes open, curling closer on Jesse’s other side, tugging his prosthetic arm over him and snuggling into his side.

After a while, neither boy jolted awake or opened their eyes, the movie credits rolling and the other agents preparing to head off to bed or their own activities. Hanzo glanced at Jesse and saw that he was nodding off as well, head lolling back to rest against the back of the couch, one arm tucked around Hayao while his other hand rested on Shingen’s stomach, patting idly. Carefully, Hanzo slid to the other side of the couch and pulled out his communicator, snapping a picture of the trio.

“You gonna share that with everyone, Han?”

He smirked, glancing at Jesse who had one eye open to look at him, a slight smirk on his own face.

“Perhaps not, if you help me put them to bed.”

“You drive a hard bargain, too bad I like these kids.”

Jesse slipped his arm from around Hayao, the boy protesting and burying himself closer to the gunslinger’s side. It took all of Hanzo’s power not to snap another picture at the startled look on Jesse’s face or the soft smile that followed. He scooped Hayao up in the crook of his arm while Hanzo took Shingen, hoisting the boy up so his head would rest on Hanzo’s shoulder. The two of them making their way to Hanzo’s quarters, waving quietly to everyone they passed as to not wake up either child.

Once outside his door, Hanzo punched in the pin and watched it slide open, hoisting Shingen up when he began to slip and taking off his shoes at the doorway before walking inside.

“Athena, turn the lights on, but dim them please?”

“Affirmative, Agent Hanzo.”

With the lights dimmed, he could see that their “home” hadn’t changed much since he was gone. There were a few toys left out by the T.V. and some video games outside of the rack he had placed for the boys. But there was a laptop sitting on one of the tables that he’d never seen before, and a serape thrown across a chair beside it. Along with a few personal effects Hanzo knew didn’t belong to him or his children. Glancing over his shoulder, Jesse freezes in midst helping Hayao taking off his shoes and smiles weakly.

“Kids trusted me enough to come inside, figured I’d be babysitter until you got back,” he explains, patting Hayao’s back when he starts to stir and gently shushing him. “By the way, you’re not injured anywhere, are you?”

Hanzo huffs, smiling a little. “I’m fine, Jesse. And thank you for taking care of them while I was gone.”

“Not a problem, Han.”

Jesse smiled and Hanzo couldn’t help but return it, motioning for the other man to follow him. Showing Jesse into his bedroom was oddly personal but not in a way that made Hanzo want to hide everything before the other man entered. It was like bearing a private part of his person to Jesse and it didn’t feel wrong. Hanzo smiled a little, pressing another kiss to the crown of Shingen’s head before laying him down in the middle of the bed. He coaxed him awake long enough to help him change into sleepwear, extending Hayao’s pajamas to Jesse for him to do the same. Theirs was less of a scuffle to Hanzo’s surprise and more of a gentle relay of sleepy sniffles and soft reassurances. Nonetheless, both boys were tucked in and curled around each other as they slept.

Jesse folding his arms across his chest, and smiling down at them while Hanzo tried his best not to stare at him. That smile did things to his heart that were embarrassing to admit but too right to stop. Rubbing his shoulder, his lips parted as he tried to think of what to say but nothing would come out. Luckily, Jesse broke the silence.

“Believe it or not, they were worried about you from the moment you left.”

Hanzo’s smile softened. “And I missed them.”

“Yeah, they missed you too,” Jesse replied, a hint of something lingering in the air after he spoke.

He glanced towards Hanzo and Hanzo met his gaze. With all of the power that he had, what Hanzo wanted most right now was to hear what was on Jesse’s mind. For what was spoken between them to be put to words rather than lingering in the air. He wanted to know how Jesse got on with his sons, how did they become so comfortable so quickly, and why did he stay. Hanzo swallowed hard and squeezed his shoulder, bringing himself back to reality.

“I should shower,” he muttered, looking away.

“Yeah, uh.. I’ll grab my stuff.”

Hanzo nodded, only looking up when the sound of Jesse’s spurs started traveling down the hall. Cursing himself, he gathered his clothes and headed for the shower, hoping to wash away the embarrassment and shame. But once he’d come out, refreshed and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, he nearly dropped his things seeing Jesse laying in his bed, one arm thrown across both boys and fast asleep.

“Jesse?” Hanzo whispered, coming closer and reaching out to touch Jesse’s shoulders, stopping short when he noticed the arm detached on the side table. Jesse never took his arm off. Not that Hanzo knew at least. Even when Angela called for it to be serviced or needed him to remove it for medical reasons, it was a fight to the finish that neither of them were keen on having. For him to take it off now, in Hanzo’s room, was —

Hanzo nodded, rounding the bed and laying on the opposite side of Shingen, hesitating before wrapping his arm around his sons, drawing the blanket up to their shoulders.

“Goodnight, boys,” Hanzo whispered, glancing up at Jesse and smiling softly. “Good night, Jesse.”

* * *

“I missed you too,” Jesse interrupted, and Hanzo came back to reality, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Both men stared at one another with matching smiles, parts hopeful and nervous. That is until Shingen’s fist connected with Jesse’s jaw as the boy stretched out then turned onto his side, still fast asleep.

“Oooh, he has a mean left hook.”

Jesse nursed his jaw and grumbled. Hanzo had to stifle a chuckle, covering his mouth.

“Shingen does move in his sleep.”

“Now you tell me.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, leaning over and kissing the curve of Jesse’s jaw. The cowboy’s eyes widened and he stared at him even after Hanzo pulled away. Boldness spurring him to smirk, eyebrow raised and haughtiness in full effect.

“All better?”

Jesse grinned. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say thank you very much to @asa-ghost and @teestofbirb on Tumblr for beta-reading this chapter. What I like the most about writing characters with children is that being a parent often brings out another side of a person. It makes you think about your own childhood, what you would want to do differently, and how you want to act towards your own child to help them grow. I think that Hanzo would be a great father, and I listed a few reasons in a post on my tumblr blog (@familyiswhoyouchoose). 
> 
> If you want to check out any of my other headcanons, that would be the place to be. I also post up original fiction [here](https://tapas.io/IYHuckleberry). My main novel being **Apotheosis** , you can read the summary below. If not, thank you so much for checking this out and if you want to tell me what you liked, disliked, any headcanons or questions, shoot them here or to my tumblr and I'll happily answer them.
> 
> Thanks guys and see you later.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Apotheosis**  
>  Reya is a mercenary – bound by contracts of blood and coin.
> 
> Arianna is a wanderer armed with deep pockets and a silver tongue.
> 
> Their meeting, a stroke of luck and an unfortunate misstep, catapults Reya into a journey across the realm at Arianna’s behest. Yet while her contract seems simple, it is anything but. Braving unknown terrain, besting dangerous creatures, toppling governments, stopping a war, and saving deities aren’t what Reya signed up for. But Arianna promises to see it through or Reya’s face will be the last thing she ever sees.


	9. Sweet Bad Dreams (Jesse and Hayao)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse reminisces on how good he has it when another reminder shows up at the door.  
> 

Jesse McCree considered himself to be the luckiest man on Earth. Aside from his skill with a gun, tactical training, and years of experience in covert ops — he was lucky to be alive. With Talon, several governments and the UN on his neck, most would’ve thought that he’d been caught by now and locked in a jail cell or an underground lab never to be seen again.

But here he was — whole, free, and cuddled close to one of the world’s most dangerous assassins and an ex-yakuza prince at that.

Hanzo’s arm was wound tight around Jesse’s waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest helping to ease the rowdy thoughts that roused Jesse from sleep. In the darkness of Hanzo’s room, with only the blue numbers on the digital clock to Mark how long he’d been awake, Jesse was privy to nothing but his own musings and Hanzo’s quiet breathing. He shifted his arm from beneath his pillow, laying a hand against Hanzo’s arm, tracing the outline of his muscles to his bicep and then back. Even without the light, he could imagine how his tattoo looked and felt his grip loosen, hand unconsciously splayed against Jesse’s lower stomach.

Lacing their fingers together was an awkward endeavor but feeling Hanzo squeeze back when Jesse applied pressure made his heart flutter. Sure enough, he was lucky to be able to live another day and sleep another night with him. Stoic and ironclad as Hanzo may be, to the surprise of many at the Watchpoint, he had a softer side to him.

Two at that.

The corner of Jesse’s mouth quirks up.

He remembered seeing Hanzo that day. Approaching the Watchpoint’s gated entry point which had more holes than any of its occupants wanted to admit. Hanzo could’ve easily slipped around them if he’d only brought himself. Two smaller silhouettes against the early morning mist raced towards the gate with the larger one in tow. Genji, leading the Calvary to speak to Hanzo in case things went awry, was tackled to the ground when two kids latched onto his chest and legs.

Hanzo has caught up only after the kids were excitedly jabbering to Genji, referring to him as “uncle” to everyone’s surprise. With a soft command in Japanese, both boys relinquished their hold on Genji and returned to Hanzo’s side. One holding onto his hand while the other clung to his pants leg. Genji took the opportunity to stand while Hanzo surveyed the crowd, taking in their expressions. Jesse wished he knew what his face looked like because when his eyes met Hanzo’s, there was something there for a second before his stony visage returned.

One hand set on the back of one boy’s head, the other on top of the other boy’s head, Hanzo raised his head and looked dead on into Genji’s visor.

“Brother, these are your nephews, Shingen and Hayao.”

Needless to say, that caused an uproar and almost everyone was surprised to see the change in Hanzo’s demeanor.

Wiping noses, giving hugs and kisses before and after departure, buying cake and other little trinkets just to see wide grins, fussing over little things in the way that only a father could.

The Hanzo that laughed and tumbled around on the floor with his sons trying to wrestle him into submission was a far cry from the fratricidal crime boss Genji had described years ago. Jesse wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not. His infatuation with Hanzo, skin-deep at first only intensified as he got to know him and by extension — his kids. Becoming a staple in their lives, their home, and the domesticity of it all was almost like a wonderful dream.

So precious that it made Jesse want to beg any deity listening to give him all the luck imaginable so it would never end.

Hanzo’s arm tightened, his breath fanning against Jesse’s neck as he groaned and smacked his lips, cuddling closer and burying his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck. The cowboy stilled, waiting until Hanzo stopped moving to even think of breathing. Content with his thoughts, his eyes slipped shut as he waited for sleep to take him.

Minutes passed and Jesse was awoken by the door easing open, a sliver of light from the floor panels helping to cast a long shadow as a small figure crept into the room. He glanced to where Peacekeeper sat on the nightstand, fingers twitching as his mind raced, heart hammering. The small figure didn’t move any further and Jesse squinted, making out a small person standing hesitantly in the doorway, feet shuffling from one way to the other.

The door was opened a little wider, and Jesse’s heart settled as he sagged against the pillow. Stealing a glance at the clock, two-thirty in the morning flashes back at him and he sighs, shifting in place. Hanzo’s arm tightens around his waist, only assuaged by Jesse stroking his wrist until he loosened, allowing the latter to sit up.

“Y’lost sweetpea?” He asks, voice gravelly from sleep.

Hayao jumped and the door cracked a little wider. Light spilling into the room backlit his small frame. Messy raven black hair, a plain white -t-shirt, white pajama pants covered in little Overwatch symbols, arms wrapped around a greyish-white worn dragon plush, and footsteps light as he toed closer.

“Uncle Jesse?” he whispered.

Jesse smiled and beckoned him closer with a little wave. Hayao approached, a tad bit surer of himself as he stood by the bedside and tilted his head to meet Jesse’s gaze. In the dim lighting, Jesse could barely make out the confusion on Hayao’s face but it was soaked deep in his words.

“What are you doing in my dad’s bed?”

Jesse’s heart stilled.

_Shoot, what am I supposed to tell him?_

Hanzo, sleeping like the dead, wasn’t any help and the situation was compromising in itself. Their relationship, while new and evident to the other agents, was still going over the heads of the kids who’d grown to see them as family — and him as an uncle, not their father’s boyfriend.

“Uh, y’see..”

“Did you have a bad dream too?”

_Too?_

Jesse was thankful for the dim lighting so Hayao couldn’t see the surprise coloring his features. Years of covert-op training kicking in, Jesse looked over the small child in earnest. He wasn’t just holding onto the plush but clinging to it for dear life, his shoulders were trembling, toes criss-crossing over each other as he shuffled from side to side. As he waited for Jesse to respond, he sniffed and with all the vitamins, shots, and health check-ups Angela had been giving the kids — Jesse knew for a fact that Hayao wasn’t sick.

“Y’wanna come in for a little while?” Jesse offered, heart seizing when Hayao took a half step back. “Must be cold out there, ‘m sure your dad won’t mind.”

Hayao squeezed his plushie tighter, and Jesse could imagine his expression. The same one Hanzo had when they first arrived. Shifty, guarded, the look of someone ready to bolt at even an imagined hint of danger.

“Hold out your hand to him,” Hanzo whispered, so quietly that Jesse almost missed it, his warm breath against the shell of the cowboy’s ear.

Jesse shivered, almost glancing over his shoulder until Hanzo’s finger tapped twice against his hip. He recognized it as their signal in the field — one for yes, two for no. Jesse shifted slightly, pulling his hand from underneath the blankets and holding it out in the cold air circulating through the room. Hayao’s head lifted up and he took a half-step forward then a few more. With all the care a child could muster, he took Jesse’s hand and let him help him onto the mattress and beneath the comforter. His feet were ice cold and pressed against Jesse’s stomach as he curled up in a ball, facing away from him. Jesse’s arm laid across him, Hayao curled into a tighter ball.

Heart aching for the boy, Jesse tried to wrack his brain for the times when Fareeha was small. He was young and wild back then and surely wasn’t the first choice for comfort but he’d seen the way Ana took care of her. Remembered how his own mom took care of him.

“I’s all right, sweetpea,” Jesse cooed, running his fingers through Hayao’s hair, hand resting along the curve of his jaw as he turned his head. “We all have bad dreams now and again.”

Hayao didn’t say anything for a long while and Jesse figured he must’ve gone to sleep until a tiny voice spoke up.

“Even dad?”

Jesse wasn’t sure what to say to that. Knew how Hanzo liked to keep his appearances up, and his guard up even higher, could only imagine how much he hid so the boys wouldn’t see him at his lowest. But Jesse wasn’t Hanzo and right now, Hayao needed to hear the truth.

“Yeah.”

Hayao shifted and Jesse felt the dragon plush’s tail brush against his stomach.

“Even you?”

Though he couldn’t see Hayao’s eyes, he could feel the weight of them and the question on his shoulders. Nodding quietly though knowing Hayao couldn’t see it, Jesse’s eyes misted over and he willed himself to speak.

“Even me.”

“Does that mean Shingen has them too?” Hayao urged, voice tight and insistent. “And Tsubaki?”

While Jesse didn’t want to imagine Shingen or Tsubaki plagued with terrors — he knew firsthand that people had a tendency to hide many things behind their smiles. Even kids. And he shuddered to think of what the Shimada did to them growing up.

“Yeah, them too.”

“Can the dragons make them go away? The nightmares?”

_If they could, then why don’t they help Han and Genji?_

Quick as the bitter thought crossed Jesse’s mind, it was expelled. Hayao was only a child. He didn’t know of the complexities of the human mind or the extents of the dragons’ power. Not even Genji or Hanzo knew aside from what they were told by their clan’s elders, and Jesse wouldn’t have believed shite out of the mouths of people who’d order brothers to fight to the death.

“Y’know, Hao, I don’ rightly know, but—” Jesse’s voice trailed off as he thought back to better days. “When I was a boy, my ma would hug me tight and all of my bad dreams weren’ so scary then because I knew she was there for me.”

Until she wasn’t.

Until he’d left home and traded warm hugs and a farm for bullets and a gun.

Hayao’s toes pressed against Jesse’s leg, startling him out of his thoughts. Hanzo’s arm retreated without warning and Jesse almost asked him what was wrong until he felt Hayao’s hair brush against his chest and his forehead rest against his sternum. The quiet invitation coming just as Hanzo turned around, the mattress shifting underneath his weight, his back pressed firmly against Jesse’s as Hayao gained the courage to relinquish his hold on his plushie in favor of hugging close to Jesse.

Hesitantly, Jesse ran his fingers through Hayao’s hair then laid his hand against the small of his back, hugging him close.

“I won’t tell anyone about your bad dreams, Uncle Jesse,” Hayao reassured and Jesse chuckled, patting his back. “Promise not to tell anyone about mine?”

“I promise, sweet pea.”

Hayao nodded, giving Jesse a little squeeze.

“Even dad?”

Jesse swallowed, and to Hanzo’s credit, he didn’t make a sound or move at all.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Hayao nodded again and this time settled down to sleep, eventually, his breaths evened out and Jesse sighed, cradling him close to his chest.

“He is like me,” Hanzo concludes, his tone heavy and bitter with words left unsaid.

Jesse sighs, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re right, his feet can’t stay warm for nothin’.”

“You know that is not my meaning, Jesse.”

Of course he knew. Jesse patted Hayao’s back, brushing his hair behind his ear.

“D’you love him any less?”

Hanzo tensed up and Jesse huffed.

“Course y’don’t, and that’s a part of you that he’s got ‘in him. Hao’s gonna be alright, Han’, he’s strong just like his dad.”

Hanzo snorted and Jesse grinned.

“And his uncle.”

Jesse’s smile fell and he groaned, burying his face in the pillow, feeling the slight tremor as Hanzo quietly laughed. He really was the luckiest man alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading this chapter. I know it's been awhile since I've posted and I apologize for that but life, what can you do?
> 
> This chapter was made over the span of a week or two. I wasn't sure where to go with it or what I wanted to do with it until recently. Hayao, Shingen and Tsubaki are OCs of mine and figuring out their personalities required me to throw them in situations where things weren't always so simple to fix. This time around, that thing is nightmares. I used to have nightmares as a kid and I still do as an adult. Never having someone to run to, I had to face my fears on my own which made it worse but also made me stronger in a way.
> 
> I imagined the same was for Jesse and Hanzo who had fairly rough lives growing up but their kids, (ahem) I mean _Hanzo's_ kids and the others on base, have a whole base full of parental figures to help them out. So this was my take on that with a feature of the Shimada pride and pining boyfriend Jesse.
> 
> So! My usual disclaimer, if you don't know, I _do_ write original fiction. If you'd like to keep up with my work, you can find it [here](https://tapas.io/IYHuckleberry). If you would like to ask me questions or scream at me about what I wrote, I'm still on Tumblr, my blog is familyiswhoyouchoose.
> 
> See you in the next chapter. o/


	10. Welcome To The Family (Jesse and Shingen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse just wanted to explain himself but he ended up being schooled instead and left with more questions than answers.  
> 

Jesse has known fear.

At seventeen years old, despite all the crimes and allegations on his rap sheet, Gabriel Reyes had managed to instill the fear of law in him with only a leveled look and a rhythmic tap of the boot that somehow managed to be in time with the clock ticking above their heads. Jesse could still remember the way his arms folded, fingers drumming against his bicep as he _waited_ . He didn’t rant like Jack, who’d taken the first crack at Jesse and gotten his nose _cracked_.

No, Gabriel Reyes waited, and Jesse’s mind did the rest.

Swallowing hard, Jesse tried to remind himself that he wasn’t that seventeen year old anymore and he surely wasn’t in an interrogation by a highly trained field commander.

No, he was in a diner in the heart of Gibraltar, across from a twelve-year-old boy picking whip-cream covered strawberries off the top of his cake. 

His father being the one and only, Hanzo Shimada.

A voice in the back of Jesse’s mind that sounded oddly like Gabriel told him that he was being overdramatic. The hardest part was over. He’d gotten to talk to Hanzo, asked him for a date, and the archer agreed after a brief contemplation (which had Jesse’s stomach in knots for days)  and bartering with Genji to see whether or not he’d be available to watch his children.

His children who’d only known Jesse as their cowboy uncle — not their father’s boyfriend.  Hanzo didn’t seem worried about breaking the news to them himself but Jesse assured that if Hanzo took Hayao then he’d be able to handle talking to Shingen. Now that the moment of truth was upon him, he wished he didn’t open his big mouth.

“Uncle Jesse?”

Jesse blinked, feeling the ache of having his eyes open for too long without blinking. Glancing up at Shingen, he noticed the strawberries picked off the top of his cake but the rest was left uneaten.

“S’mthin’ wrong with your cake, kiddo?”

Shingen laughed and shook his head, practically glowing, though Jesse chalked that up to the artificial light over their heads.

“Nah, you’ve just been quiet for a really long time,” he said, tapping the side of his face. “And doing that thing with your jaw.”

Jesse scrunched his nose and patted his jaw with his flesh hand, running his fingers through his beard. “Thing?”

“When you’re chewing on something but you have nothing in your mouth,” Shingen shrugged, and Jesse became vaguely aware of how empty and dry his mouth was. “And you get this faraway stare.”  
As if to make a point, Shingen turned in the booth and rested his chin in his palm, staring out the window. Jesse rolled his eyes. Leave it to one of Hanzo’s kids to make fun of him. But the corners of his lips twitched up into a smile. Shingen stole a glance from the corner of his eye and turned to him with a wide grin.

“Alright, now quit pickin’ on your uncle,” Jesse scolded gently, reaching over to ruffle his hair, taking care so that none of the joints in his prosthetic fingers caught onto the black strands. “This the thanks I get for takin’ you out for cake before dinner?”

Shingen scoffed, pointing his fork accusingly at Jesse, eyebrows furrowed. “There’s fruit in it which means that it _is_ healthy,” he said, taking a bite out of a strawberry after impaling it on his fork. “Which means it _is_ part of dinner since dad and Miss Angela makes us eat fruit for dinner.”

“Ha, nice try kid but I know for a fact most of that is sugar,” Jesse rolled his eyes at Shingen’s feigned horror. “So y’not gettin’ over on me.”

“But you already got me cake, so didn’t I?”

It takes a second longer for Jesse to realize that he _did_ buy him the cake regardless and it was meant to _bribe_ him. So in a way, he _had_ a point. Hiding his face with his cup of lukewarm coffee, Jesse grumbled and sipped trying to ignore the shit-eating grin on Shingen’s face.

“You are just like your damn dad,” he grumbled, trying not to smile. “I swear.”

Shingen shrugged, popping the rest of the strawberry in his mouth. “Well, you like him.”

“Ye—” Jesse sputtered on his coffee, groping around for a napkin as the words sunk in. Eyes wide, he meets Shingen’s gaze and almost balks at the knowing look he levels him with. A moment of silence passes between them, only the sound of the other diner patrons talking and clinking their silverware, faint Christmas music playing overhead, and the soft buzz of the lamp shade to fill the lull. Shingen blinked slowly then sliced into his cake, his voice cleaving through their quiet.

“That’s why we’re here, right?”

“Uh…”

For all of his bluster, Jesse wasn’t sure what to say. This wasn’t exactly how he thought things would go. Suddenly aware that he was dealing with a _Shimada_ , he should’ve known that it wouldn’t have gone exactly to plan.

“I’m twelve, Uncle Jesse, not blind,” Shingen pointed out, eyebrow raised as he took another bite of his cake.

“Shingen,” Jesse started, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. “I wanted to tell you but…”

“Beat you to it,” Shingen finished, shrugging as he cut another piece, seemingly oblivious to Jesse’s mortification. “And got free cake.”

“Y’mean I didn’t even have to do all this?” Jesse gaped, gesturing wildly at the cake and the diner. “You already knew?!”

Shingen hesitated in bringing another piece of cake to his lips, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Maybe,” he drawled, smiling as he took another bite. “Free cake.”

Jesse sagged in his seat and ran his hand down the side of his face. Shimadas. They always made things so damn complicated. Though despite his surprise, he couldn’t help but smile. It was a learning experience for sure and he’d have to remember to keep an eye on Shingen next time. And if he was honest, it was nice. If he and Hanzo were going to be  _ more _ than friendly, he’d have to see all the sides of him and his sons. 

Folding his arms atop the table, he watched as Shingen picked at his plate, gaze flicking up occasionally to meet his. 

“I know you and my dad are close.”

“Is that we call it nowadays?”

Shingen snorted and rolled his eyes, “Well, if you wanna know what nuna calls it, I can tell you.”

“Nuna?”

The boy’s eyes went wide and a faint pink colored his cheeks. He glanced down at his plate, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear and Jesse smiled a little. 

“D.Va,” Shingen corrected, as if scolding himself. 

Jesse nodded but figured he shouldn’t push it any further than that. Out of everyone in the Watchpoint, Hana had endeared the Shimada boys the most. On more than one occasion Hanzo had gone looking for Shingen only to find him curled up by Hana’s side, playing a game with her, oblivious to his father standing in the doorway as the two debated with each other and exchanged light-hearted banter. After finding out Shingen was suffering a cold, Hana asked for an update on his condition, and everyone on the comms heard her call him “namdongsaeng”. Hanzo didn’t say anything, letting it unfold, but Jesse could tell he was happy.

The others were too. 

Jesse looked into his cup, tilting it this way and that so the contents would swirl around. 

“Nah, I’un had enough of her stream friends.”

“You’re just upset because they embarrass you and dad when you’re being mushy.”

“Hey now,” Jesse bit back, smiling as Shingen laughed. 

Eventually the sound peetered out and Shingen’s expressio sobered up into something resembling acceptance. The look of a man who’d come to terms with what he was faced. Jesse swallowed thickly. After seeing Shingen tear into those Talon grunts, the painful realization that he wasn’t given the chance to be a child set in. Any thought that this would be a simple cake walk was gone.

“My dad likes you,” Shingen said, taking a deep breath then an audible exhale, slowly nodding.  “You helped Hayao when he had that nightmare.”

Jesse’s heart skipped a beat. How had he known about that? Shingen glanced up at him, as if daring him to deny and Jesse tapped his fingers against the tabletop, a quiet resignation. Shingen’s gaze fell and he nodded again, sighing, the sound heartbreakingly worn.

“And you cared about how I felt,” he added, the corner of his lips curving up into a smile. “That says a lot.”

Jesse wants to know why he would think it wouldn’t. It dawns on him that he may not have been the first person Hanzo tried to pursue a relationship with. How many of them tried to drive a wedge between the boys and their father? How many people has Shingen had to defend his brother and father from when either Hanzo’s loneliness or Hayao’s shyness impeded them? A knot settled in Jesse’s stomach and he wanted to ask but thought wiser. Hanzo was capable of handling himself and Hayao knew better than to trust Jesse unless in the presence of his father, unconscious or not. 

No matter what the three of them had gone through, they’d come out on the other side. A little less than whole but together nonetheless. Sobering up, Jesse’s head bobbed up in down as he ran his finger around the side of his mug.

“Well, he is your pa.”

Shingen looked up at him and his steely gaze softened into something childlike and open. Taking it as a good sign, Jesse lifted his cup to take a sip.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll be too.”

Choking on his coffee, he beat his fist against his chest as Shingen laughed, slapping his hand against the table while Jesse tried to gather his bearings. 

“Don’ say stuff like that when ’m drinking!”

“What?!” Shingen gasped, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “I’m just being honest!”

Jesse barely caught it. The shift in his demeanor was there, the weight in the air remaining but Shingen was smiling as if it never happened and Jesse tried to play along. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he took another sip, cautious of the beaming child across from him.

“Too soon, kid,” he said, pointing a finger at Shingen when he opened his mouth. “Too soon!”

Shingen scoffed and sagged in his seat, cutting another piece of his cake. “Whatever,” he sighed, a smile in his voice as he ate. Then as if the clouds rolled in over the sun, shadows painted across his face as he regarded Jesse solemnly.  “Promise you’ll take care of my dad?”

Jesse stared at him for a moment and said nothing, feeling the weight of his stare and the quiet implication of something he couldn’t fathom.

“Doubt he needs me to take care of ‘im.”   
“Uncle Jesse..”

Gone was the softness and wide grin, replaced with a blank stare and sharp eyes. Jesse wasn’t afraid of Shingen by any shadow of a doubt but if Hanzo was as dangerous as he was as a grown adult, he could only imagine what a young Shimada heir would be like. 

“Alright, alright,” Jesse grumbled, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

Shingen eyed him for a moment then nodded. “Good, cause if you don’t, Uncle Genji will get you.”

“Oh I know..” Jesse grumbled, recalling the long-winded shovel talk that spanned over weeks after Genji caught wind of his crush (as juvenile as it sounded) on Hanzo.

“And I’ll get you.”

Jesse quirked a brow and snorted with a short puff of laughter.  “Not that I won’ deserve it if I hurt your dad, but I think I can take you at least, Gen.”

“Yeah?” Shingen asked, and there was something in his voice that made Jesse tense and he swears he sees a flash of gold streak across Shingen’s irises before it’s gone and he’s smiling. “Well, I don’t wanna find out.”

Stuffing his mouth with cake, he’s blissfully silent but Jesse’s mind is racing. Then to add insult to injury, Shingen looks up at him and gives a toothy grin.

“Good talk by the way.”

* * *

 

They head back to the Watchpoint by dinner time and Shingen parts from Jesse’s side to barrel into Hanzo’s arms. Squeezing him tight and jabbering away about what they’d gotten up to, he leaves Jesse standing stock still with a cake box in his hands. It’s almost surreal seeing him running away to join his brother and cousin on the walk to the mess hall while Hanzo approaches him, a look of bewilderment on his face as he follows Jesse’s gaze to Shingen’s retreating back.

“How was it?”

Snapping from his stupor, Jesse blinks rapidly and looks at him. “Good, good,” he trails off, handing him the box then scratching the back of his neck, the two of them heading inside from the hangar with their pinkies intertwined. “I do wanna ask y’somethin’ though.”

Hanzo glanced up at him and Jesse tried to find a way to properly word what he saw. He was certain the glow was from the light but the streak, the change in his demenaor, it seemed a little too convenient.

“Did you glow as a kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that chapter was a little difficult to write but also had a lot of underlying things to it. Jesse and Shingen sat down to have their heart to heart talk with Shingen dominating most of the conversation. I think I've got his personality down pat now: light-hearted with the right amount of scary and sometimes unsettling. But hey, he's had a very interesting upbringing so cut him a little slack. Anyway, this chapter came courtesy of a prompt from otpandkids.
> 
> If you guys have any prompts or anything you want to see, please don't hesitate to send them to my Twitter, Tumblr, or the comments section below. Since it is the Christmas season, I am open to Christmas-related prompts and welcome them.
> 
> I'd talk more about this chapter and where the inspiration for it came from but honestly, I feel like more questions have been opened. Tell me what you guys think and I'll see you in the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work and would like to support me, [why not buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/iyhuckleberry)?


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